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Three Poems by Robert Beveridge

Copperhead Road

 

In this town

pot’s the #1 cash crop

and it’s cheaper

than Camels

 

the local headshop

does good business

in rolling papers

 

passed down

through generations

the art

of the perfect joint

 

but when the outsiders

move in

the locals

still themselves

like the Shenandoah

in May

 

 

The Executioner’s Sword

 

The Nglala in Zaire

would tie the prisoner with hemp

to a bent tree. Stretched.

 

One clean blow. The head flew

one way, the body another,

perhaps to keep the soul

from remaining with either.

 

The blood is not cleaned

from the blade. It is a badge

of honor. The layers, dried,

thicken and dull. Only the best

executioners can sever a head

with one blow from a thick sword.

 

 

Imminent Hard Drive Failure

 

Sixteen monkeys flew

against the windows,

pigs on leashes behind.

You ordered another bag

of peanuts. Your eyes closed

but the sun’s glare

off the wing had burned the images

into your retinas, too.

If only monkeys looked more

like Celine Dion, say.

 

 

Robert Beveridge makes noise and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, OH, with recent/upcoming appearances in Wildflower Muse, Noble/Gas Qtrly and The Ibis Head Review, among others.

 

 

Image credit: lord the air smells good today

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