S.A. Borland

Born With It

I was a barefoot boy
in Superman pajamas,
Velcro cape trailing
like a wedding train
through air-conditioning
we couldn’t afford—
rouged cheeks exploiting my innocence,
more harlequin than Christopher Reeve.
How I wanted to be a movie star!
and modeled myself
after this beautiful alien.
How fitting.

It’s 6:26 and blue out in the dark
that comes before sunrise. Yesterday,
two shots, one in each arm,
because, like so much of childhood,
neither took before.

We gave up watching the superhero
movie that was worth the gossip
but not the breath of any critique.
Watched Jackie Jr. get murdered instead—
The Sopranos like fine dining after a TV dinner.

The world stays full of
bad actors and bigots,
the cancelled and the sold-out,
The wars we watch
aren’t the wars we’re in.
Each is a distraction
from what’s abundantly obvious
yet, apparently, invisible—
the rich are trying to eat the moon
while the rest of us don’t own two spoons.

And I’m supposed to be immune now—
to what?
Myself?
The headlines?

Anyway, I’ll take cream in my coffee, thank you,
and rub the soreness out of my arms
with this towel as my cape,
flowing as I move through my world

because baby,
it’s not Maybelline.|
I was born with it..

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S. A. Borland is editor and designer of Sibling Rivalry Press and author of Tertulia. A Catalyze Fellow, Desert Rat Resident, Open Mouth Fellow, and recipient of the Richard Stanley Cooper Literary Award, his work across books and design has been recognized by the American Library Association and the Library of Congress. He lives in Little Rock, Arkansas, with his husband, Bryan Borland.