ATOMIC GRAFFITI By Glenn Armstrong

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.