…recently I (that’s me) have started writing
in a minaturistic style, leaving no room whatsoever
for imagination to interfere with the final outcome…

When Supergirl Was Six

When Supergirl was six,
she sputtered when she flew.

She was not top
nor bottom heavy.

Some boys liked her,
some did not.

But, oh boy, when she bloomed,
there was no standing room.

So pretty when she flew,
so pretty when she landed.

Her cape wrapped around
her perfect body.

No criminal was safe,
no villain free to flee.

But when Supergirl was six,
she sputtered when she flew.