Jonathan Berger's Poetry: Poem of the Day
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GOLDEN AGE

Clark takes the train.
It didn't used to be that way. In the good old days, Clark didn't have to concern himself with public transportation. If he needed to go anywhere across the country, he'd just fly. Clark used to hold the world in his fingertips. Clark was a very powerful man.
In the good old days... things have changed a lot since then.
Sometimes, when taking the train, people recognize him.
"Aren't you ...?"
"Yes," he'll say sheepishly, "I am."
"I loved your piece on the whales," they might say, or "How can I break into journalism?"
He smiles grimly and talks to them, answering their questions seriously, as if he cared as much as he used to. He recalls better days, when he had everything.

Clark used to be a very powerful man, before the fall.
He could crush his enemies like gnats, and he could do whatever he wanted. Laws of man and god were beneath him. A girl, a mountain, a diamond, whatever he wished, Clark could attain.
He had boundless potential. He was special.
He used to fly.
Now he takes the train.