toes precedent to heel- feet land gently.
additional limbs hang limp until folded onto the ground;
Billy rests safe; a silent form of breath and sweat and dissipating fear.
the rippling, thunderous hero drinks in the view.
he notes encroaching clouds, threatening to burst from heavy bellies, a torrent of acidic rain.
alert eyes pierce through dense, night air
with high-resolution, amber tainted night vision.
he studies the boy’s tarred clothing and black, scuffed converse,
evidence alluding to a recent struggle; resistance.
not more than seven, eight at most,
without aid, the limber child would not have managed long.
one round, grapefruit-colored cheek smashes down into the sepia toned cement
causing a bubble of flesh to swell across his lips, nose, eye.
a quick scan of the area gives assurance of safety.
time to go.
yet he is drawn towards the flimsy cotton t-shirt,
his unbiased vision detecting a glimpse of amber-gold beneath.
his heart maintains rhythm
his breath does not catch
his brow knows no perspiration;
he is, after all, a superhero.
a bat figure,
a small, lifeless pendant strung along a worn, leather string,
glares red now, like a tail light or a stop light or a sign spelling out
E-X-I-T.
his child,
his child,
His:
wakes alone
to invasive pellets
of heavy rain.
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