I saw the bastard webslinging over electric Soho,
miles above the stoplights and New Yorkers.
What I wouldn’t give to be up there in some red-
and-blues, slingshotting between skyscrapers,
ready to swing in and save some beauty getting
mugged. I’d take out the thugs with an uppercut,
a flick of webs and a one-liner. But instead
I’m walking home in the goddamn New York
cold, because my car broke down and it’s too
expensive to fix when you teach high school
and rent costs a grand. I wonder if Spider-Man
ever has to wait for traffic lights
or pedestrians, if the city is one slow crawl
below him. I’d trade my job, my BA,
hell even my wife, anything to climb walls,
spin webs, touch rooftops with toes.