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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