Clay and Cherry Cola XI By Glen Armstrong

Clay

By Glen Armstrong

 
 
I am clay.
 
You are the slow, controlled heat
that makes me
 
want to endure.
 
The bells are ringing, and the birds
are speaking a strange language.
Your hair is better
 
than birthday cake.
When you walk away, the ringing
 
eventually stops
 
and starts up again in the middle
of the night.
 
You leave your fashion sense 
on the front porch 
along with written instructions 
about the way
 
I might adapt it.
I ruin
 
my pajama bottoms.
 
For I am clay,
not yet a brick or ocarina, still
 
that nothing 
that tracks everywhere.

 

Cherry Cola XI

By Glen Armstrong

 
 
There are people who barely stay 
focused, who have no
boundaries,
 
whose apparently individual forms
are made up of little
birds.
 
There are songs about virginity
and cigarettes.
Hello.
 
Sister and I watch The Fall 
and The Psychedelic
Furs 
 
on television.
 
There are people who talk when they sing,
people who fly
away.
 
Sometimes we stay up all night
waiting for them to
knock
 
on the door.
 
Sometimes, years pass, and even the tattered 
fliers we’ve posted go
Missing.

 

About The Author

 
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 current books of poems: Invisible Histories, The New Vaudeville, and Midsummer. His work has appeared in Poetry Northwest, Conduit, and Cream City Review.