Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances include The Nixes Mate Review, Violet Rising, and The Road Less Travelled, among others.
Barefoot in Camazotz
Children pace the room,
unwashed, hair in all directions
as if brushed by Robert Brown.
One shakes his head, dazed,
all stare out imaginary windows.
The walls are beige. The children
know the land outside, too,
is beige; no need for windows.
Miles away, those who were
once their playmates
bounce balls, bounce balls,
await the arrival
of Charles Wallace.
Gardening in Ten Easy Lessons
You lie beside me
shift in your sleep
as my mind wanders
across the poem
of your body
I pick up my pen
I dig an ephemeral
furrow in my lip
watch you
wait, notebook
on my bedsheet-
covered lap
You turn and your
arm slides over my
waist, hugs
me close. I touch
pen to paper.
My Town Has Changed
two years
I come back with a wife,
kid, addicted to tobacco
and licorice liqueurs
my palate for lobster
tainted
and my town has changed
the punks on the monument
who used to be my friends
have all grown up
become May-to-August businessmen
and are probably in Florida
this September
The two-story T-shirt shop
on Main St. is now
some sort of moose lodge.
Even the bathrooms
in the public park
and the fudge shop
have had walls
ripped down.
So I try
in my own small way
to change it back
in the bathroom
in the public park
I scrawl graffiti
with a Cross pen
and sign my name
a true Monk's Point
boy made good
~Robert Beveridge
Barefoot in Camazotz
Children pace the room,
unwashed, hair in all directions
as if brushed by Robert Brown.
One shakes his head, dazed,
all stare out imaginary windows.
The walls are beige. The children
know the land outside, too,
is beige; no need for windows.
Miles away, those who were
once their playmates
bounce balls, bounce balls,
await the arrival
of Charles Wallace.
Gardening in Ten Easy Lessons
You lie beside me
shift in your sleep
as my mind wanders
across the poem
of your body
I pick up my pen
I dig an ephemeral
furrow in my lip
watch you
wait, notebook
on my bedsheet-
covered lap
You turn and your
arm slides over my
waist, hugs
me close. I touch
pen to paper.
My Town Has Changed
two years
I come back with a wife,
kid, addicted to tobacco
and licorice liqueurs
my palate for lobster
tainted
and my town has changed
the punks on the monument
who used to be my friends
have all grown up
become May-to-August businessmen
and are probably in Florida
this September
The two-story T-shirt shop
on Main St. is now
some sort of moose lodge.
Even the bathrooms
in the public park
and the fudge shop
have had walls
ripped down.
So I try
in my own small way
to change it back
in the bathroom
in the public park
I scrawl graffiti
with a Cross pen
and sign my name
a true Monk's Point
boy made good
~Robert Beveridge