The Batphone rings. The Commissioner's mad;
I’m late for work. I fly out of my cave,
Bat eyes blinded by the bright morning light,
And stub my toe on the doorjamb. My cape
Isn’t ironed because Alfred's on vacation.
I leap into my ancient Batmobile,
Coax the atomic batteries to power
And the turbines to speed, buckle my seatbelt,
And sputter downtown where I pay to park
Several blocks from the Commish’s office.
Once there, the Commissioner chews me out
Before giving me a paycut. “More work,
Less goofing off,” he says, dismissing me.
For this I spent countless years training hard
And more pocket change than I care to count.
Maybe I should reconsider the Joker’s
Offer. He even covers damaged Batsuits.