Two Poems by Katie Armstrong

Donald John Trump

I expected this Samson
bombast. His boast a
balloon, a hot warren riddle,
and a big bag of duck down—
and that’s not to mention how he’ll
pillow in the rubble.

But who was it said
out of the strong, something
sweet?

I do know you said it was for me,
notwithstanding endangered bees.

Imagine, for a moment,
the taste of my ballot,
candied and crushed
on a stone. Then the bromide,
in a cube, on the lips
of the mules on the mill.

In dreams I’ve seen what
waits for me: the
largesse of a pale ocean,
the bigamy of nations
and notions.
It’s true I suckled on
a founding—I did what
you told me to do.

But I won’t have this
wedding. I’ll pass beneath
the music from the nearer room.
Honey, what happens
to a nightmare deferred—
or, when his foxes are loosed,
do you even wanna
know?

In the morning I’ll march the strata,
my arm in a sling, unbruised,
white as a lily.

The cloy of the sun
on the rocks—
this I will take. This
is my chyron. This
is all I need to know.

 

My Übermensch Is Here

A picture of
my girl worship—
you still summer
smooth here,
standing fast
before the red
map,
an enormous
language,
whispering to me
in a death lather
please woman
through the busted
sheet rock,
ripping satin
thousands
like the tiny pink men
never could
in all their minted
lusts.

***

Katie Armstrong is an engineering student at the University of Colorado, Boulder. She tweets into the cold void at @ArmstrongKatie. Her work has appeared online in Hobart and is forthcoming in Journal Twenty Twenty.

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