Clark and Lois had breakfast, eggs

She said, “It’s so hard to define

What I mean by truth.”

Clark dreamt of his cape, not his rod

Rushing into a phone booth, car horns

Echoing in that little chamber

Lois looked out of the chamber

Felt deep within her the eggs

Could imagine on his forehead the horns

That she thought so divine

Clark rushed out to his hot rod

He needed to get to work, in truth

Jimmy Olson said, “Ain’t it the truth

I hardly get to use my camera

Before some galoot shoves a rod

Into my chest.  You can’t break eggs

Without making an omelet.” 

Clark tried to define

Where what he heard was.  Was it horns?

Far below the Daily Planet, in a bar, listening to horns

Lois thought about fishing rods

And the spark she called divine

Listening to a combo in the chamber

“What did they call those fish eggs?”

Clark stumbled in, seeking the truth

As always, it was hard to determine the truth

Caught, as it was, on dilemma’s horns

Nothing as everyday as eggs.

Clark, changing in a closet, knocked down a rod,

Before flying, out the door, out of the chamber

In a way mild-mannered did not define

Lois didn’t feel superman in him, couldn’t define

Him as the man who leaped buildings, didn’t know his truth

Like a kangaroo court meeting in camera

Couldn’t hear the whoosh of his speed over the horns

Or his electricity, like negative and positive rods

Clark sighed and went back to his eggs

No spark, nothing divine, could she see, just her eggs

She sat in the chamber, listening to the jazz horns

Which to her were the only truth.  She put back the closet rod

09/10/2007