Matty Layne Glasgow: June 2017 Poet of the Month
John Towner

John Towner

I GREW UP WANTING

 

to fuck my superhero, bend him

over, cape over face, & let him feel

something for once. Clark, baby,

 

you left those tortoiseshell rims on

the nightstand, your want the only

pulsing kryptonite that kept you

 

from coming too soon. Red boot tips

to sky, eyes swallowing universe as

it swallowed us both whole. It didn’t

 

take x-ray vision for them to see right

through us. Your invincibility buried

beneath a baggy jacket, a high-pitched

 

voice. My desire to strip all that away—

a growing weakness for curves like yours,

for a strength alien to me. Somewhere

 

beneath the s-curl of your yellow shield,

a part of you needed to lift us up, to save

the planet crumbling around us, but you

 

always did your best work on your back,

or against the wall, so you let the world

burn that day. We watched hellfire rain

 

& brimstone through the open window

while you taught me to build a fortress

from my solitude. I kept your red speedo

 

for a souvenir, left you your belt & blue

tights, those leather boots hovering

toward the door. I kept the cape, too.

 

Just a little stained something to hold on-

to, to remember the mess we made, & the

ones who expected so much more from us.


Matty Layne Glasgow is a poet and MFA Candidate in Creative Writing & Environment at Iowa State University where he teaches social justice rhetorics and serves as the Poetry Editor for Flyway. Matty’s queer ’lil ditties have appeared or are forthcoming from journals here and there, including WILDNESS Journal, Rust+MothFlywayHIV Here & Now and TheNewVerse.News, which recently nominated him for a 2017 Pushcart PrizeHe has three great loves: his partner—Iran, hot fiery food, and poems that burn. He queerly tweets—less and less sparingly—@Matty_Layne.