I Want An Invisible Jet!

I'm not entirely certain where this idea came from, but as soon as I read this week's Poetry Thursday prompt to create a dialogue with someone else in your poem, I thought of Wonder Woman at Wal-Mart. Maybe I'm reading too many comic books...

Saturday at the Super Wal-Mart

I see her in the automotive aisle,
puzzling over oil weights, silver bracers

resting against the red rail of her cart.
I wonder who goes shopping in a star-spangled

leotard and go-go boots. Her gold lasso of truth
is slung over her shoulder, like a purse strap.

The other women around us swerve
their carts at the sight of her, giving

wide berth. “Which one of these
is for salad?” she asks, hefting

a jug of winter weight oil. “Wonder Woman,”
I whisper softly, “you’re in the wrong aisle.”

She frowns, stands on her tiptoes, towering
over me, looking for her path. “Can you show me?”

Together, we navigate the wide white aisles,
strolling past lawn chairs and lozenges, magazines

and make-up. I can’t help but stare at her tiara,
at her blue black hair billowing past her shoulders.

“I know this is rude,” I venture, “but where
are your street clothes?” I try to imagine her

in an office, filing papers, answering phones.
“They ripped again, straight at the seams,

like they always do. Fifth time this month.
Besides, it’s not much of a disguise.” I nod

to agree and my eye catches the gleam
of her lasso. I wonder if she’s ever tried

to wrap it around herself and squeeze
until the truth comes tumbling out. I feel my thoughts

rise like bubbles in soda, and she reads
what I’m thinking. “It doesn’t quite work like that,”

she says, stopping at her aisle
dressing bottles stacked to the ceiling.

“It only works on everyone else,”
she says, before pushing her cart away.