Caped Cage

Cage ain’t no cape, man,
ain’t no frequent flyer

unless he’s the Riddler
with Con Air hair, man,
weaving a wicker basket.

There ain’t no cape, man,
but Cage with a bone
to pick, demons to exhume –
Bat-boy in chains!

Perhaps he’s playin’ jokes
on everyone and their mother –


Radioactive bean sprouts
gone arachnid –
case of the jumps.

There ain’t no
Capes for Cage.

Sorry for the rejection,
Nicky baby,
see how you run!

Try a prime-time network
that wants to implode.

Remember, I like
my steak bloody.

Go get the money
from the safe, honey –
in the safe.

Potato head as Superman,
Cage as Lex Luthor,

We’ll drink to that,
Harvey Wallbangers
all around.

The ghost never left Vegas.


Samuel Strathman is a Jewish poet, author, educator, and editor at Cypress: A Poetry Journal.  Some of his poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Acta VIctoriana, White Wall Review, Train, and elsewhere. His first chapbook, “In Flocks of Three to Five” will be released later this year by Anstruther Press.  He lives in Toronto, Ontario, Canada.