Tiny Mary swims from a pipe
and breathes
from a hose obscured
by plastic seaweed.
I can leave now
that I’ve seen her blow
kisses to the seahorse.
The rich build houses
on stilts and consider
themselves hurricane-
proof.
People like Tiny
Mary and I are born
to push adjectives
with our names
through the sponge docks,
hoping to be discovered.
We dream of giant
eyelashes
and theme songs.
About the Author
Glen Armstrong (he/him) holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters. His poems have appeared in Conduit, Poetry Northwest, and Another Chicago Magazine.
