The Cape

The wind is my little cape,

all smoke-ring theatrical. 

The cape is my wing, 

steering me onto 4th street, 

into weekends and kiosks. 

Once the clasp’s fastened, 

it’s a small leap to the catwalk, 

the bullfight, to knighting 

sidewalks with my footfall, 

or staging Dracula’s black madness. 

Out and about in it, shop windows 

reveal my inner magician. 

My cape is not much to look at. 

Some don’t even see it. 

I wear it walking 

to my day job, and when 

moonlighting as me.