The Anchorage lifestyle is so far removed from my own. Maybe this is why people travel, so that they can contrast and compare home and travel-related similarities and differences. Freshmen composition students – they contrast and compare but no travel is involved. No wonder they don’t like this particular stylistic entity.

Lately I’ve been obsessed with Superwoman. She’s my alter-ego, and actually the alter-ego of most women – which is hapless individuals who are following in the shadow of someone else. In this case, Superwoman is following in the shadow of Superman. She has her own talents and abilities, but in her own mind she’s still not as good as the Man of Steel. She sure has not gotten the notoriety he’s gotten, and this of course depresses her.

I identify more with Superwoman than I do Wonder Woman. Wonder Woman is a vamp – she flaunts her good looks, and makes sure that she’s always front and center of the Superhero line-up. She is the token woman Superhero. It’s not that I dislike her; but rather, I don’t at all identify with her.

If I was to do an on-the-street survey and ask passersby to name three women Superheroes, they’d name two, at best, Wonder Woman first, and Superwoman second. This is a sad state of affairs. There should be hundreds of female superheroes.

Inside each and every female is the character of a Superhero hoping to be set free. In other words, we have inner Superheroes. Yesterday, during Bones for Life class, I was sitting at the kitchen table and I happened to glance over at the refrigerator. I then envisioned myself reaching over, and with one hand picking up this appliance, and balancing it on my hand, the way a seal would balance a ball on its nose. I did not say anything to anyone because I know that I’m already considered to be a few bubbles off plum.

I never imagine saving people, but I do imagine saving animals. The other night I saw a video taken in Southern California – they have been getting torrential rains in this area for some time. This video was of horses trapped in their paddocks. And the poor animals were up to their bellies in water. All were amazingly calm; it was as if they knew they had to conserve their energy because they were in a shitload of trouble.

I’ve been thinking about ways in which they might be saved. The only thing I can think of is that someone needs to go into the area with a boat, put a lead rope on each one, and lead them out. I did consider the helicopter option, but the noise of this form of machinery would freak the poor animals out.

I wouldn’t regard this form of rescue as being heroic, but rather being necessary. If you need accolades, then there is something inside you that didn’t see the task at hand as being all that important.

Last night I was unable to sleep. So I got up and wrote another Superwoman poem, this one’s entitled Fire. It’s about Superwoman’s first heroic deed, which took place at age 13. She went into a preschool and rescued two young children. One lived and one died. She then had to begin to deal with the downside of being a superhero – fame and acclaim. Was young, and not prepared for this. This is true to life.

In my head everything is true to live. I am really good at making the imaginative leap and suspending disbelief. My mantra is ta pocketa, ta pocketa. And in the words of Kurt Vonnegut, and so it goes.

Next: 58. 2/27/17 Just Another Day