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Where has Superwoman gone?

by K. Kylyra Ameringer

Superwoman's superhuman strength is sapped,

her cape of invulnerability is rent and torn.

She needs to teleport to a spa

('cause flying is just too much work)

and take off

her tight tights of righteousness,

her constricting corset of morality,

her boots of decency,

her culpability for the world.

She wants to ditch the gizmos and gadgets

that glorify her beyond her alter ego

and become nothing

more or less

than human, having

emergencies no larger than making this month's rent,

tragedies no greater than a chipped nail,

triumphs no further than calling the winner

in this season's X-Factor.

Superwoman appreciates your confidence and trust

but must insist you do without her for a day.

She apologises in advance for any

loss of limb or life

you may experience

in the course of this calamitous Condé Nast

carnal sabbatical,

and deeply regrets developing

this co-dependent attachment

among so many of you

based on her borderline bonkers

people-pleasing need.

Please leave a message at the tone.