Robert Beveridge poetry

19 | Left In The Cavity After Surgery | Let Go Of Me

Left In The Cavity After Surgery

Abandoned at the altar and in no way
biodegradable. The hellhounds
on your trail released to track
clamps, sponges, the occasional
spurt of green blood. Sepsis,
however, its own untraceable
reward. Most of the bulbs
in this cut-rate hospital vanity
are as burnt out as you are,
but it’s time to buck up, little
camper, and let the hounds do best
what hounds do best. Sit back,
drink your grasshopper, scan
the treeline for the flash of tail.


Let Go Of Me:

The Mushroom Pizza Trilogy, Part I

Oh, God
let me not dream
of the supermarket
again tonight

I pick up
the phone
dial an old
girlfriend
I still try to marry
every few weeks

why can’t you
leave me alone
she shrieks
why can’t you
just let go
of me

someone new
at Walsh’s
too much bourbon
we go home
thrash around
for a while
then pass out

I pull up
outside
the supermarket
go in to look
for a frozen pizza
to while away
my hunger

I pick up
a can of sardines
let go of me
they shriek
so I put them down

I pick up
a sirloin tip roast
let go of me
it shrieks
so I put it down

I pick up
a mushroom pizza
let go of me
the mushrooms shriek
so I put it down

I see you
in the frozen
orange juice aisle
I realize
I owe you money
so I walk towards you
taking out
my wallet

let go of me
you shriek
let go of me

why can’t you
just let go
of me

I wake up
she holds me
I don’t even know
her name but
she holds me
as I shriek
let go of me
she just holds tighter

and as she kisses me
she whispers
don’t
let go of me

and after
I stop shaking
I ask
if she feels
like a large
from Sam’s
with anything
but mushrooms


robert beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Pink Litter, Triadæ, and Welter, among others.