Another Day in the Life

The face I find in the mirror is
not superman's.
still, I am sure I am some superhero,
but then, in the shower
the soap slips out of my hand,
resounding, slithering, sliding around
in the bottom of the tub.

I am gloriously human,
my sweat washed off, the grime gone, clean —
the day's soil, if not sins, scrubbed away —
but no cigar, no special powers,
though I do leap out of the tub
in a single bound.

by ken stern