Heroes

 

Every moment is an opportunity for heroism,

Though probably not the burning-building kind –

Unless you happen to be in a building

Which happens to be burning,

In which case please stop reading this poem

And save at least yourself.

The rest of you, consider heroism

Not as a seven-story leap through fire,

But as a way of breathing, smiling, cocking your head,

Sipping your coffee, unwrapping a chocolate bar.

Think of Paul Newman.  He did ordinary things –

Onscreen and in “real life” –

Let’s say about half the time.

But it was Newman doing them, and so

The can of beer he popped or the dog he scratched

Attained a kind of mythic meaning for

Us onlookers – and maybe for him, too.

You’re not Paul Newman, I assume.  But still.

You could do dull things a little less dully.

You could maybe even do magical things,

Unthinkable to you now, if you begin

With a dog or a beer or a chocolate bar

Or putting on boots, or calling an old friend.

And meanwhile, if you see that person from

The first stanza – the one whose shirt’s on fire –

Please roll him (gently!) on the ground for me,

And offer him a little of Paul Newman’s beer,

Which Paul, who knew how thirsty we might get,

Heroically, mythically, simply, left behind.