By Glen Armstrong
You did not say my name.
But I assume you were talking.
About me.
The Skrulls and the Kree.
Go to war.
I assume it was something I said.
A wet sock accentuates.
The tile on my bathroom floor.
Loose change obscures.
A photograph of me as a baby.
Being held as if in limbo.
By my mother.
As if that little pink human.
Sponge matters more than the vast.
Collection of matter and thought.
Beyond it.
I never had a chance.
You did not say my name.
Oh mighty universe.
But against all odds here I am.
Bio:
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.
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