The Love of Nine Years Old
by Jeff Santosuosso


Cause and effect are a funny pair.
Some cite the butterfly effect,
then launch into Moth Man
or Mothra or another Japanese monster flick
as if Batman weren’t good enough,
as if 60s US kitsch didn’t measure up,
cowls weren’t sexy,
nor were tights, gloves or old-fashioned
satin briefs without the codpiece,
as if no guy in purple and green,
no guy in a top hat and tails with a cigarette holder,
and no babe in a cat suit who was so hot
they had to get 3 actresses to play her
could hack it!

Ha! That was love.
Week after week, Pow! after Jab! Boom! and Biff!
Love everlasting.
I once dreamed of climbing a studio prop building
laid on its side and filmed at 90 degrees,
struggling and groaning, as if I were ascending.
It wasn’t hard.
I did it for the love,
the love of 9 years old and Halloween night
and Mom sewing up what she could
from scraps of fabric and old dresses,
the love of adjusting rabbit ears,
turning knobs, and tuning in UHF channels,
the love of Chris O’Donnell, Christian Bale and Michael Keaton
aint’ got shit on Adam West
no matter how much the Simpson’s spoofed him.
For that’s love too.

“Holy word association game, Batman!”
“Indeed my nostalgic young friend.”






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