When I went to meet the careers advisor,
I told him that I wanted to be
Not Batman or Catman,
Or any other miscellaneous caped crusader,
But the Big Enchilada of men in tights,
The blue and red hero who puts the world to rights,
Mild-mannered Clerk Kent by day,
Well, let me put this another way,
Insurance executives have to wear suits and fly a lot,
But when you do it as Superman, it becomes really hot.
And are you qualified for this profession, the long-suffering advisor asks,
Can you fulfil the promise, complete the tasks?
And, looking at him witheringly, I reply,
Well my biological father,
Was a ruling member of Krypton’s hi-
erarchy and my mother put me in a spaceship
And sent me to Earth before our home planet went splat,
And can you produce references to that effect, he sighs,
Yes, I say, laying them on the table like a tissue of lies,
These are gibberish, he exclaims, his breath redolent of Menthol Tunes,
No they’re not, I say defensively, they’re written in Kryptonian runes.
Well, I don’t know… he begins, getting irate,
I say, don’t be stroppy, just use Google translate.
So he writes me a chit to take back to school,
This lad is unemployable, he’s just acting the fool,
There is no place in this life, I have found,
For people able to leap tall buildings at a single bound,
And his blind determination, well, it makes me quite nervous,
I really think this boy should settle down,
And train for a career in the Civil Service.