Ode to a Rusty Spinner Rack
In my memory, a dim-lit store, By the counter, near the door, There stands a guardian of fantastic lore, A rusty spinner rack, that kids adore. From '70s days when I was young, Its creaky arms my heartstrings strung, Spinning tales in colorful hues, Of caped crusaders and cosmic crews. Rusty now, but gleaming then, It housed the minds of comic book men, Kirby’s Gods and Ditko’s dreams, Of cosmic rays, and optic beams. Each spin a treasure, an endless quest, For evildoers’ never rest. With GL’s ring or Mjolnir’s might, The Darkness was banished by the light. Oh, spinner rack, your metal gleams, Spin worlds of wonder, fuel my dreams. With covers bright and brave and bold, With secret wars and legends told. Now in my eyes your colors fade, But in my heart you’ve always stayed. From thwip and snikt to Hulk’s great roar, You were the sound to every score. In you I found the Justice League, And mutant rights, and tense intrigue. I swore by Krypton, Cap’s great shield, And a universe ...