Originally posted 9/29/2009.

In a world
wracked by anger and justifications
for anger

Glass Fist,

weirdest superhero of our time,

breaks his hands
on yet another villain’s face,
leaving the enemy shredded and wailing
and himself
crippled
yet again.

Back at 
the Fortress of Righteous Anger
his snickering friends watch

as he thrusts his hands 
into the Superkiln
and refashions them once again,
blowing shape back into each finger,
gloving them after they cool.

“What, exactly, is the advantage
of this particular superpower?”
they ask him. “You’re only good
for two shattering blows in any battle
and then we’ve got to save
your sorry ass.”

Glass Fist smiles and bows his head
in assent as they laugh — 

but later, when
he is alone in his lair,
Glass Fist pulls off
the gloves
and the mask.

Stares into his palms —
so clean,
no trace of blood.
His true and naked face
stares back from them
stained by tears,
soaked in doubt.