Thirty Days Of Julia: Day Ten

My guilty secret was reading comics.
I would rather she had caught me wanking
over porn than poring over pages
of musclebound men in spandex. Somehow,
the two were not the same. But I was there
when the fourth wall fell. Years before Berlin,
the membrane between the worlds of power
and imagination was broken when masks
were revealed to be no disguise. Thatcher
became an Iron Lady while Tony Stark
sold his armour for a bottle of scotch
and a bed in the gutter. I gave up
on heroes when there was no room to store
their tales. They would be worth good money now.