The world had loosened its tie — Two Poems by Glen Armstrong
February 5, 2022
Glen Armstrong presents two disquieting poems that move from the space of a family home into the pits of war.

Good Neighbor #19

This is television. Watch it enough and you will eventually hear the corn sing, see the king die, learn the name of a millionaire who made his fortune answering trivia questions.

My grandfather was one of the first on his block to own one. Oh, box of snow and little wrestlers! My mother once refused to go to a birthday party until the television revealed the mystery on Mr. Bluster’s head.

I have seen hippies, hangings, and talking frogs; skin, hypnotic circles, and biker gangs. Late at night, in a dark house, my orders came as if from another dimension. The world had loosened its tie, burned its bras, flipped its wig…

A Series of Tasks

We must destroy the fruit to understand
            just how amazing
            it truly is. 

We must feed.

The tender curve of the sky
            breaks open:           

The nothing and the everything
            rush into one another. 

Both make me equally nervous,
            as do all who operate
            heavy machinery.

This is not a question of atmosphere:

            the nearness of a circle
            or a storm.

Nor a question of the new normal:

            the nearness of a circle
            or a storm. 

We are one step closer
            to the ripening,
            the unbuttoned 

            striped shirt.

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About the Contributor

<a href="" target="_self">Glen Armstrong</a>

Glen Armstrong

Glen Armstrong (he/him) holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters. He has three current books of poems: Invisible Histories, The New Vaudeville, and Midsummer. His work has appeared in Poetry Northwest, Conduit, and The Cream City Review.