Glen Armstrong

Cherry Cola XIII

 

 

I wander back and forth, flowers blooming

from my pockets.

Sister

 

watches The Kentucky Derby, unimpressed

with the limited pageantry her

brother

 

is able to supply.

 

I wander the streets of our little town.

The day is grey, and the

shoes

 

are brown.

 

Most of the eyebrows are penciled-in.

I begin with a cherry cola,

having

 

wasted the day and having arrived

at a diner at once as

strange

 

and familiar as the wooden crate

we gather around

in

 

family photos.

 

_____________

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Cupid’s Playbook 

 

 

The young people take their shoes off.

They don’t believe.

 

Their ears

are like paper dolls.

 

So are the lightning strikes

off where the sun

 

usually sets.

Everything stacks on everything

 

else.

The young people tear a page

 

from Cupid’s playbook,

so to speak.

 

I’m not so sure that what they drink

can be legally described as “wine,”

 

but it gets them off.

They float around and chirp

 

at the first few drops of rain.