The Simple Life
Glen Armstrong
I am no Casanova,
no fan of complication.
When kissing starts
to resemble civil disobedience
or a graduate course in texture,
pressure and regret,
I worry.
I take inventory:
Are the animals’
tacks where they left them?
Is the species healthy?
(These questions, of course, cloud the mind.)
I am neither my mind nor my cloud,
but, oh, the possibilities . . .
When I travel as the crow flies.
When the old fruit jar
collects a coin
for each curse.
I bunker down for strange weather.
The storm cloud purses its lips.
no fan of complication.
When kissing starts
to resemble civil disobedience
or a graduate course in texture,
pressure and regret,
I worry.
I take inventory:
Are the animals’
tacks where they left them?
Is the species healthy?
(These questions, of course, cloud the mind.)
I am neither my mind nor my cloud,
but, oh, the possibilities . . .
When I travel as the crow flies.
When the old fruit jar
collects a coin
for each curse.
I bunker down for strange weather.
The storm cloud purses its lips.
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 Northwest, Conduit and Cloudbank.
