On Easter Morning 1983 we found the dead body of Superman

Hung off a dead-tooth branch of the balboa tree in our backyard
I remember that it was Sunday morning before Church.
Georgia May had pinned her palm branch from
Sunday School above her headboard, crying after Aunt Glynnis
Told her in between drags to, “Can it with the hosanna’s, alright!”

Grandpa had woken up early to go out and fire
his Remmington at the one-legged whippoorwill
Returning with a red knee high boot cupped in one palm.

Superman’s shirt was inside out.
A pair of crooked spectacles with
Spider web lens lay crippled below his shadow
His body hung swayed and paused
Like the transparent spine of a grandfather’s clock
A ballpark patch of urine drew fleas near his crotch.
Grandpa said that apparently he had used Wonder woman’s lasso
Which led Uncle Karl to momentarily put down his
PBR and make thrusting sounds with his torso.

In a way thinking back on it now, it was kind of funny
The way grandpa angled the ladder against the tree
using his own father’s Cherokee knife to free
Superman’s neck from the jaundice strap.
A listless blue plummeting into the earth.
Georgia May ran around rattling the plastic
Eggs to see which ones contained dimes and
In the evening time, none of us took note
Of the train that whistled past in the distance,
Lugging tufts of smoke on the railroad
Tracks that hadn’t been used

Only Georgia May pointed at the unusual array of Canadian
geese flapping over head
Forming a mathematical greater-than- sign
In their formation headed in a direction
That wasn’t quite South.