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.