Climbing into the car at 7am,
a neighbor waves hello, smiles.

Superheroes don capes
and flashy suits to catch attention
like new, improved breakfast cereals,
reminders that the extraordinary
exists, reminders that we all fly
sometimes, though we more often
feel staked to the rock.

To get up means more
than just responding to alarm.

30-35 people dying on the news
on average every day in February
of gun violence in America; we complain
about the weather to avoid doing something
about the people next door yelling
at their children

Worried that without capes
the buildings are too tall, we cannot
fail to fall, faltering being far too

When the sky is too darkly clouded,
the morning rushed, what is the difference
between snazzy flannels, or fleece onesie
pajamas and primary colored heroic spandex?