Sunshine Superpapi

Faster than a speeding bullet,
my father walked through Hiroshima.

The face of a child
like a melted Dali clock.

My father thought he was Superman
and tried to fly.

The sky’s not made for Mexicans,
he finally figured out.

He gathered his cape around himself
and kept on walking.

A lone chimney stood like a phone booth,
my father thought he’d change.