Nebraska Center for Writers

by Matt Peckham

In your other life, you're Thor, the Norse God of Thunder. Not the stuffy old Edith Hamilton Thor, either. She only gave you a paragraph in her Mythology. Thor's Day, Thursday, a day of the week. That's all Hamilton can muster about your contribution to the pantheon after babbling for three-hundred pages about lusty Greek gods and their post-coital baby-snacking adventures. All nonsense. You are comic book super-chrome, spawn of the Silver Age and Journey Into Mystery #83 courtesy Larry Lieber's plots and Jack Kirby's pencils. Clad in perfectly pressed red cape, blue tights, and yellow boots, your skintight bulges precede you like auspicious growths. With your mighty hammer Mjolnir you blaze a path through the sky, heaving lightning bolts and bellowing thunder. The planets and the stars, Midgard, Asgard, and the Nine Worlds are yours. Your "mayhap," "thou," and "verily" make Shakespearean heavyweights sound like milksops. You are the Thunder God. Abandon hope, all ye that mess with you.

Reprinted with permission
from "Dreams in Tights"
Copyright © 2003
by Matt Peckham
Epiphany Magazine, July 2003

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The Rock

Nebraska Center for Writers