Fiction   Essays   Poetry  The Ten On Baseball Chapbooks In Memory

John Glass

She-Warrior and Tuxes

Powder blue was the color of the cover
of issue two-hundred and one, a tux
from a 1978 prom would have matched.

I didn’t like Wonder Woman, she-warrior
a splashy Saturday purchase, Deluxe
Comics was open and empty, I gambled

And I was twelve and it was raining
slicker, lunch, Mom, bags, all jux-
taposed at the mall, I read in the car.

Thirty years would bring two-hundred more
issues, but I would happen upon grad school, aw shucks,
where did Stacie put that flashlight?

These days I’m all highbrow, I teach history
ignoring golden lassos, Donald and ducks
these days I see my old books at garage sales.

Neckties and starch and monthly staff meetings
my wife—damn—does not use an Electrolux
cause—damn—in this dark I need it for this dust

I vacationed from animation, eventually
but reading powder blue in my youth, no flux
a little dream just told me I still have said powder.

Neckties and copiers and meetings gave way
today to a Maglite and mice, the crux
of yon rafter under me, as I read my she-warrior.

Flash and the Glockenspiel

A red blur or a tap on the silver?
For two orchestral excerpts
that I have come to know.
Or fighting these rogues that I’ve come to know?

The scarlet speedster?
My mallets on the silver?
The micro-dust scattered by the scarlet
speedster is challenged by piercing decibels.
(If it's in tune, it's okay)

Can we give these mallets to, say, Captain Cold?
Hell, he might
rat-a-tat sixteen notes up and down the glock
a closet percussionist?
or a villain-turned music jock?
It doesn’t matter—leave the chatter
to my comic book imaginaries
I gotta work on this gig for the church of the latter-
day-something and their annual
pot luck dinner extravaganza.
Can Flash help me carry my glockenspiel in there?
But I digress: I’ll read
After my audition.
A clean roll—airtight—on the edge of my snare.
A mean scowl—uptight—from my neighbor upstairs.
But a sensational red blur of my own via my glockenspiel mallets. Crisp and molecular.
Flash is always jealous of that.

©2009 by John Glass

John Glass is from Mobile, Alabama, but moved to New York in 2005 in order to further pursue his writing and his music. He teaches elementary Spanish by day, and in the evenings either performs as a percussionist with various symphonies or works on his poetry at the nearest diner. John married his lovely wife Stacie in 2007. Gracie, their baby girl, was just born!

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