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 BlazeVOX, Conduit and Cactus Heart.
Here’s a sweatshirt with a horse’s head and the name of a school, and here’s infatuation in case you’re still cold.
The world’s dark powder sticks to your bare legs.
You call it “dirt,” but be patient. Dirt may yet prove the natural state of things.
How many shoes will be hurled your way? How many middle fingers will you launch as preemptive strikes?
There are bicycles in your bloodstream. And feet. Oh what a mess.
There is no sense discussing musical taste, religion or politics. All idols are false at your age. All bodies fit. All hair long enough to sweep the ground.
You bring nothing but what’s inside you, and the world will have its due.
One thought on “Graduation Day”
I like it all, but stanzas 1, 5, and 7 are hall of fame! Bravo.