The Real Superman

"It's slip disc."

the doctor said. 

I was shocked, 

my face cold. 

He lied on the bed, 

with something so severe;

reading a book, 

like nothing happened ever. 

"Bring my jersey,"

he said with style, 

I stood astounded

in that little while. 

Of course, I told him, 

not to play that day;

he wasn't fine, 

he wouldn't listen to me anyway. 

Holding his bat, 

he went out of the door, 

continued to walk, 

till I let out a roar. 

He didn't obey, 

he never does. 

My mind boggled, 

absorbing all that fuss. 

He broke his own record, 

won the match. 

The zeal in his eyes 

was beyond my catch. 

"Bravo!" I cheered

as he popped open his phone;

"I want an appointment at 5", he chirped. 

And I saw the real Superman under the cantaloupe sun.