By Glen Armstrong

 

I’m afraid of poetry.

Who’s to say that those interesting.

Young people at the podium.

Won’t summon a demon.

Or make the whole room fall.

In love.

I have boots to reheel.

And no time to feel weird.

About daffodils and wars.

That my grandparents fought.

 

Words ought to inspire trust.

Not gambol about like Sea-Monkeys.

I don’t trust envelopes.

Full of powder.

Or the advertisements.

In old comic books.

Words ought to arrive as they are pictured.

Their world should resemble ours.

I simply don’t have time.

For these tiny little lives.

 

Bio:

Glen Armstrong holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and teaches writing at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. He edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters and has three recent chapbooks: Set List (Bitchin Kitsch,) In Stone and The Most Awkward Silence of All (both Cruel Garters Press.) His work has appeared in Poetry NorthwestConduit and Cloudbank.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s