The Iron Giant Expands His Vocabulary

First published in Freezeray Poetry (US), Issue Thirteen, 2017

I peer up at him, sitting safely
cradled in his junkyard nest.
I teach him about entropy,
introducing him to the concept
of mortality.
He mumbles the names
of his favorite superheroes,
cogs twisting & turning in throat
with the mechanical weight of the effort.
I reiterate. Enlightening him
with rust, varnishing him with salt-
encrusted wisdom. Metals will oxidize,
colorize, crumple. He will perish,
fall apart or implode into shrapnel,
punch a missile, save us all someday.
I hold up a piece of what was once
something. Nothing innovative or
brave anymore. But a rusted relic
rotting in a junkyard in the woods.
His headlight eyes flicker, blink, consider.
He repeats my name in a pleading tone.
He is still not getting it, so I curl up
in the palm of his gargantuan hand. He
raises it before him, pulling me closer to his tin
can body. I point a finger at his chest. Pressing
against cool iron exoskeleton. Tell him
to repeat after me: entropy. Entropy.

He says his favorite superhero is Superman.
He never read the one where Superman dies.