Spring 1998 • Vol. XX No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 1998 |

Riddle Me This Batman

Doesn't everyone die a dozen times, ready or not? ZLONK! KAPOW! @;#$%*!?! The cancer slow, or sudden as heart's failure—desire desire—whether suicide or mass murder, we all share final breath. Rites. Residuals. To the Batetcetera Robin! driving crazy, the panicked power pole he wraps his car around—is ours, that last prayer, even if only a shopping list, some milky thing. Must— reach—utility—belt—too many spinoffs in the works too many arch- villains going makes things easy for. HO HAHAHAAHAHAA HEE—hear them now. Reruns. Side kicks. So riddle this, Batman—with the water in your tank rising risen, the sharks unfed, slandered & anxious what tricks lie up your mask? what geniusy grab-bag will you open after this word from our sponsor? LINK PARABOLE Now back to our show, to our question marks & fish hooks—what suffering shark repellent Batty, what holy torpedoes will rescue you hig

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Kevin Young is the author of ten books of poetry, most recently Blue Laws: Selected & Uncollected Poems, 1995–2015. His Book of Hours was a finalist for the Kingsley Tufts Prize; his book The Grey Album won the PEN Open Award, the Graywolf Nonfiction Prize, and was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award in criticism. This essay has been adapted from Bunk: The Rise of Hoaxes, Humbug, Plagiarists, Phonies, Post-Facts, and Fake News, longlisted for the National Book Award.

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