You could do worse than shoveling shit
in a Kentucky stable where stud horses
dream of the cheering race day crowd.
Who’s to say the guy who works third
shift at ampm is less than the CEO
of fill-in-the-blank corporation? I recall
turning knobs as a night watchman, trying
to stay awake. Nothing ever happened.
They might as well have put a cardboard
cutout of me there. I could have been
dreaming about fucking in an atomic bomb
glow; both getting vaporized near the base,
whether or not the U.S. retaliated;
leaving dark shadows on the ruined wall.
Glenn Armstrong was an '80s NYC club kid. Foundational music from the Ramones to P-Funk informs his poetry. His work has appeared in The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, and others. He lives in San Diego.
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