Julie Allyn Johnson

The Reveal

Neighbor’s Rottweiler barks at four a.m.

Superman pulls a fresh pair of leggings from the dryer
hugs them tight to his weary torso,
welcome warmth in the damp October chill.

Dressed and shaved
for another day of do-goodery,
alone — again — with no one to check
the aggressions that haunt
many a caped crusader,
he tugs at his skimpy briefs,
faded now to a salmon pink
from the sustained glare
of public scrutiny.

The Man of Steel cracks two eggs,

marries them to the breakfast bratwurst
that sputters and sizzles
on his studio stovetop.

Why do you hide?
he’d asked her one quiet night long ago.

No less powerful
than a hail of bullets
whizzing past
his graying temples
and blood-shot eyes,
her swift reply
subdued him with its veracity.

I am afraid of you.

© Julie Allyn Johnson

Julie Allyn Johnson loves to read and began to write poetry following her retirement in 2017. She enjoys long walks in the woods with her puppy, riding her bicycle, travel, photography, crochet and hiking in the Rocky Mountains with her husband where they hope to bag a 14er this fall. Her poetry has been published in Lyrical Iowa, Persephone’s Daughters, Typishly, The Esthetic Apostle and Coffin Bell.