Clark Kent on the Analyst's Couch

My life, such a tragic beginning

When Krypton was blasted to bits 

My father sent me off in a rocket ship,  

My whole race then perished in the blitz 

I was rescued in a wheat field in Kansas

By Martha and Jonathan Kent

They adopted me as their only child

And taught me what rightfulness meant

By age three I’d discovered my powers

I could toss a cow up in the air 

The Kents were completely astonished

Though my strength also made them beware  

They trained me to hide my abilities

Masquerading as a plain Kansas youth 

My destiny, they explained, was to aid humankind

As the guardian of justice and truth 

In adulthood I lead two disparate lives

I’m Clark Kent for most of the day 

Earnest reporter at the Daily Planet 

I seek facts and sniff out foul play 

“Clark Kent”, as you know, is simply a front

He’s the human I claim that I am

Mild-mannered, gentle, ungainly

Convincing even though Clark’s a sham 

My real self earthlings call Superman

I switch to my costume in a crisis 

As the Man of Steel, I fight doers of evil

The murderers, the crooks, and now Isis 

I can lift up a trolley with just one hand

Race faster than a speeding train

Machine gun bullets bounce off  of my chest

Children think I’m a bird or a plane 

To keep my identity secret

There’s no one to whom I get close

As Clark, I lead a most lonely life 

My true self I never disclose

I constantly worry they’ll see through Clark Kent

My disguise, just a blue suit and glasses 

Superman and Clark are identical twins

Just one slip, I’d be known to the masses  

As Superman, I’m still more lonesome than Clark

I fight every battle on my own

I have no peers and no intimates

Disaster and violence are all that I’ve known

I do have a soft spot for Lois Lane

I’m enamored of her spirit and beauty 

But I never show Lois my feelings

Love’s sadly not part of my duty

That’s the whole of my life, dear Dr. Freud

All the burdens of a dual personality

Both of my selves are estranged from the world 

My sole wish — just one speck of normality 

Speed Hump Diatribe

Now that I’ve turned a hundred and two

I find that I’ve gotten more crotchety 

What irks me the most are the speed humps

The mere thought of them, I turn all blotchety

I hate slowing down for these beanbags

So I go thirty miles per hour

My SUV clanks like a rusty old tank

And the jolts to my spine make me dour 

Plus speed humps are terribly noisy

They make your shocks rumble in pain 

We listen to trucks in the early morning hours 

The bang-crash-pows drive me insane

They never had speed humps when I was a kid

Only crazies built hurdles on a road

We children were smart and watched out for the cars

And drivers themselves braked and slowed 

And why do they now call them  speed “humps”?

They were speed “bumps” for most of their years 

They’ve changed the wording to blot out the truth 

Since “bumping” our cars raises fears

“Speed humps” does sound rather kinky

Like trying to make love really fast 

My roommate used to take thirty seconds 

Till his sweetheart suggested he last 

I hope that they’ll dig up those speed humps

They can ship them off to the Southwest

And build Trump Wall out of leftover humps 

Though they may not slow down eager guests

Zumba Rumba Baboomba

My gym has a gaggle of classes 

There’s spinning, plex pump, and tai chi

Zumba is the class that caught my eye 

My Sis says it helps her be free

I started with Zumba on Wednesday nights

Our teacher is named Lily Sascha

She has bright purple and pineapple hair

And, whoa, does she know how to cha-cha 

Cha-cha-cha to the left

Cha-cha-cha to the right 

Rock-step forward, rock-step back

Hands reach high, birds in flight 

There are only two men in our Zumba class

Just me and this angular guy 

We’re neither in first-class Zumba shape

Compared to the rest, we’re un-spry

Lean to the left side, arms aloft

March in place, fast-fast-fast-fast

Dig your left heel, dig your right toe

Whirl around, life is a blast

Zumba involves your legs and your arms

I can’t keep my mind on two things

I struggle to get my footwork right 

But my arms flop around like dead wings 

Push still harder, keep on going

Stamp your feet right through the floor

Wave those arms with wild abandon

Hop two jumps, then hop two more 

Some Zumba moves are beyond me 

To swivel my hips is a bust  

I worry my core has atrophied

Or maybe just coated in rust 

Salsa, merengue, and hip-hop

Raggaeton and cumbia too 

Toss in some soca and cha-cha

All these Latin steps, who ever knew

Our class lasts a full sixty minutes

By twenty I’ve broken a sweat

My knees get sore around forty-five

The last few are Russian Roulette 

Slow the pace and cool down

Arms wave gently to and fro 

Stretch each leg so far behind

Feel your muscles ebb and flow  

Right now I’m the klutziest person in class

But with time there’s a hope I’ll improve

Whatever the case, I say Zumba is great

Some day I will be in the groove