Miss Hooker caught me with a comic book
in Sunday School class this morning and she
took it away from me but after class
I got it back but it wasn’t easy
apologizing. After my classmates left
I went up to her chair and cleared my throat
and coughed twice for good measure and asked, Please,
may I take Superman home with me now,
and she looked up from her Bible, where we
left off with Samson pulling down those posts
right before we said the Lord’s Prayer, which
I had to lead the class in on account
of my sin–reading a comic book when
she was going on and on about God
or at least Samson–and said to me, Now
you know better than to bring that to class,
meaning the Man of Steel, or at least his
latest adventure, twelve cents it cost me,
not including a penny for Georgia
sales tax. Yes ma’am, I said, looking down at
my good shoes, which I only wear Sundays,
but at hers, too, pretty hard by mine and
open toed to boot, and her green toenails.
She pulled it out from under her Bible
and handed it to me, almost stuck it
right under my nose and I could smell it,
new paper-and-ink-and-two-staples smell,
and if sin smells like anything I guess
that’s it. Do your parents know you read these,
Miss Hooker asked. Oh, Hell yes, ma’am, I said
–I mean heck. They gimme my allowance
every Friday after we eat out
at the Schwartz Brothers’ Cafeteria
and I go next door to the drug store right
after dessert and look through ‘em all and
buy one. Oh, Miss Hooker said. Well, please don’t
bring them to Sunday School class. Here we talk
about God and Jesus and the Holy
Ghost–not fantasy. Yes ma’am, I said, I
was just catching up on my reading. Not
here, Miss Hooker said–here we’re serious.
Yes ma’am, I said–I’m sorry about that.
Alright, she said. I’ll say a prayer for you.
Oh, thank you ma’am, I said–I’ll do the same
for you tonight, not that you need any.
I want you to go to Heaven, she said.
Yes, ma’am, I said–I appreciate that
–I sure as heck don’t want to go to Hell
and miss out on the good time up in Heaven.
Alright, Miss Hooker said. You can go now.
Yes, ma’am, I said, getting one last look at
her toenails before I turned around and
headed for the door. Now I’m walking home
the half-mile to our house, Superman in
my hip pocket, my trousers don’t have two,
and wondering what’s for lunch and if God
ever gets hungry then what does He eat
–oh, manna, I remember now–and if
it’s Superman’s adventures that are real
and I’m just a comic book character
to God the way Superman is to me
or I may be to him. I’m a sinner
whatever else is so, and if I die
before I cross the road or while crossing
I hope that Hell’s a little better place
than the Bible makes it out to be, or
Miss Hooker. Tonight I’ll pray about that,
after the Lord’s Prayer, after praying
for my dog and my parents, and after
praying for Miss Hooker’s toenails to turn
from kryptonite to lead so love won’t die.
Gale Acuff, PhD has had poetry published in Ascent, Ohio Journal, Descant, Adirondack Review, Worcester Review, Verse Wisconsin, Maryland Poetry Review, Florida Review, South Carolina Review, Carolina Quarterly, Poem, Amarillo Bay, South Dakota Review, Santa Barbara Review, Sequential Art Narrative in Education, and many other journals. He has authored three books of poetry: Buffalo Nickel (BrickHouse Press, 2004), The Weight of the World (BrickHouse, 2006), and The Story of My Lives (BrickHouse, 2008). Gale has also taught university English in the US, China, and the Palestinian West Bank.

Photo by JD Hancock