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.