Glen Armstrong

                          G   L   E   N         A    R    M    S    T    R   O   N   G

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 Gartersand has three recent chapbooks: Set List(Bitchin Kitsch,) In Stoneand The Most Awkward Silence of All(both Cruel Garters Press.) His work has appeared in Sonic Boom, Conduitand Raed Leaf Poetry.

             Behind Your Back

The world is made of glass

and unnatural benediction.      

Quite often, its hate goes too far:

May your hand fail

to shade the sun

from your eyes.

May the pretty girls see

through you;

may they wave         

to the boys who stretch

their faces

into rubber

gorilla masks

behind your back.

          Perfume

Perfume this part.

Wash the whole.

Some people go for a few.

Petals floating in a decorative dish.

I’m only telling you this.

Because we’re such good friends.

Add an extra drop where knees.

And elbows bend as if oiling.

The Tin Man’s rusted joints.

Don’t waste your one wish.

On a heart.

That you already clearly have.

I give at the office.

Sometimes it seems like I live there.

I tear paper from half-filled spiral.

Notebooks and remove.

The resulting fringe at the paper cutter.

It’s a slow day but it smells nice.

I’ve taken my own advice.

And put all wishing on hold.

             The Forgetters 

The hand finds

that it’s just a finger,

the storm a drop of rain.

The couple waiting

for their chance

become either their chance

or their waiting.

They make a break for it.

The statue they pass

as they run

toward the parking garage,

in contrast,

thinks of itself as art.

One or the other

may break it off

this summer.

May finger.

June July.

Hypnosis.

August.

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