White Whale Review: An Online Literary Magazine Untitled Document
Glen Armstrong
Glen Armstrong's recent work has appeared in Conduit, Digital Americana and Cloudbank. He holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and teaches writing at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. He also edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters.
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Glen Armstrong

Ode to Public Service



Some of the politicians must love

the moon. At least,


they must have as children.


Now when they speak of the ribs

of lost fish,

it’s understood


that the fish are dead.


It never strikes them

as funny that the tuba

player and the piccolo


player wear the same uniform.


Dancing under the stars

used to be more



Glen Armstrong

than a photo op,

a sock full of quarters


more than a makeshift weapon.

Glen Armstrong




The ground loves the rain but refuses to budge,

The above is an example of . . .


A) Everything

B) Nothing


The king is fat.

The upstart crow runs

on double-A batteries.


It tests the world

with loud song and mascara.


Its lot in life is a little

over my head.


An aerial view of the kingdom.


A child’s biological sketch

of a beast with redundant wings.



Glen Armstrong

Agree or disagree in 400 – 500 words:


The ground feels dirty.

The earth is wet.


Agree or disagree with 400 – 500 wings:


The rain cannot be

both wet and the medium

for wetness.


The king is kissed regardless

of his size.


A light rail connects the neighboring kingdom . . .


where the princess removes

her stockings.


where the primitive survive.



Glen Armstrong

where a tin of Tin Tin

figurines wait, configured

for various adventures.


(None of the above.)



A fuzzy star rises in the East.

Like yeast and salt.


Like a wiggly child

in sawdust.


The king has tossed a few coins

into the street.


He has been asked to pass judgment on a bare foot

lowered into an open book.


The foot has yet to saturate

the page.



Glen Armstrong

Miles away, states of being akin to wilderness

have yet to decode the king’s decrees.


It all sounds like flippy-floppy.


In fifteen minutes, we will stop.

We will put our pencils down,


pass our test sheets forward

and walk into the parking lot.


The first drops of a downpour

will fall sporadically

at first


but with a force

that at least hints

at serious business.


Glen Armstrong

Zero Population



It was just rough tides,

nothing too threatening.


Up the shore we were safe enough

watching the water


rise to collide with the sky.

A jogger ran by,


her rain poncho running

the other direction


as if trying to pull her

back to her own conception.


I remember from the seventies

that push to hold


the global human herd,

to refrain from littering babies



Glen Armstrong

down upon clean waters

and mighty hard wood trees.


By the eighties we were running

to crackpot preachers


to be born again,

to consume twice as much.


It makes me wonder, brothers

and sisters and blessed duplicates,


what a bit more flesh could add

to a blustery day like today.







Copyright © Glen Armstrong. White Whale Review, issue 7.1

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