same phone-booth

same call

same cramped attempt

to change into superhero

When will grace cry CUT

and stop the camera

and kill the lights?

Another man has died on set

in the making of illusion.

He held up the boom

even as the scaffolding unraveled

and rained iron rods

down upon the unionized and unsuspecting.

So thickens the plot

like the gradual freeze

of porridge above fire—

here is the more supernatural change:

water and grain

once bound together only

by location in a common pot

become inseparable everywhere.

O God of Gotham City,

if you have any patience left

take another take,

stir me into boiling water

and cook me until thick

then I’ll become the good guy

of my baptism.