I spy over
the shoulder
of the man
who sits outside
whole foods with an
old fashioned typewriter
his fingers leaping
from one loud key to the next
characters bursting forth
onto the pages
their secret weapons raised
soothing conflicts
boosting esteem
I hear that he is able
to hold the moon in place
and put new stars
in the universe
I think he’s really
a superhero
in disguise as
an ordinary man
with a sign that reads
free poems
but I know the truth
he is saving lives
with words