I err on the side of taking.
Neither side.
Each damaged yellow light.
On the pop-up popcorn kiosk.
Gets replaced before the midway opens.
Some miracles get unveiled.
Others get plugged in.
The sun sets and it’s as if.
Nothing ever existed.
As a subsidiary of something else.

No one goes to the circus.
By default.
Some of the children stay home.
And make scary toys.
They press scraps of red paper.
Into clay and make patterns.
With the grungy arms of broken dolls.
They watch the Apollo missions on VHS.
They have no idea.
Why they feel the shame they feel.

 

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.