I saw the real Wonder Woman
heading west on 61st Street
late one Friday afternoon
in June of 1994.
In the lull after The City had
exhaled most of her workers and
hadn’t yet inhaled all of the weekend
visitors, in that breathless moment
there was only the two of us on the
sidewalk between 5th and Madison.
She came gliding toward me on silent
nylon wheels, her hair (blue-black
as any in the comics) waving soft
about her waist as she effortlessly
swayed through New York City
liked she owned it, devastatingly
gorgeous, impossibly cool and far
beyond the reach of mortal men.
I could have watched her for hours
but she closed the gap between us
in a matter of seconds and rolled on
towards Central Park, no doubt to drop
the jaws of a hundred other men and I’d
bet no small number of women as well.