We left town just before the riots.
The TV eyes, big and red
but discreetly placed,
caught it all:
Tear gas and faulty fasteners.
In that little village of longer
shadows and taller trees,
we hid.
We disguised ourselves
as Madame Hydra
and Ego the Living Planet.
I had two pairs of pants
and a beach towel to wrap
around myself
on laundry day.
We tried the local cuisine.
We worked in a factory
carving sound effects,
[KA-BLAMMO] for example,
out of the foam from abandoned
couch cushions.
The overlords were happy
with our work,
and the soda jerk
resented that.
It was a simple life for a while.
When we left, we never left
a forwarding address.
GLEN: 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.