Bliss Pover

They typo'd her name once, like it was a superpower,
binomial, like categorical science, like Faust's child,
good company for Buttercup et. al. Her actual name
was paean to her father and his birds, to plovers and gulls and
pigeons - flightly little things. We spoke in pidgin, birdless,
little words in broken lines on solid wires. She had
a superpower. It was self-destruction,
but I hear she's getting over that.