by Amy Guth

You look like a perfect fit for a girl in need of a tourniquet, the radio sang and I knew the singer was aiming right for my head. I can't just lie down and pretend not to be, but maybe can you save me like I think maybe you can. Because today this Wonder Woman is feeling soft and pink and tired, and I think if maybe you can save me from feeling my common girl's shoes, from the empty faces talking in cliches, from the ideas I haven't enough daytime to wrestle, from the debt-worry I haven't enough to meet, from the odd little shaded hearts getting all they need without an effort in sight. Maybe just today it's too much for me and struck me down already, before it's even started. I don't need much, just a little wink, a nod, a touch, a smile; a little some kind of something to remind me I'm maybe not so lost. Maybe in this early milk light, when the sun isn't too sure about shining just yet and the bricks on the street are fogged mirrors that match my ratty brains, maybe just for today, you could just save me from all this and I can be Wonder Woman another day.


Amy Guth, author of At Sevens, has written about blaxploitation, Judaism, feminism, media literacy, bandwagonism, art, cult films, racism, hate crime and social irritants for all sorts of places like The Believer, Monkeybicycle, blah blah blah. She's toodling around at the moment promoting her novel Three Fallen Women and having a very nice time, thanks. She blogs Bigmouth Indeed Strikes Again. Come say hi.