When the last piece
of Waterford hits
the floor, disintegrates,
you realize that perhaps
Dragnipur isn’t the best
pin you could use, switch
to a dowel hewn
from the very heart
of your sister’s jealousy
when you went to the prom
with the shattered spirit
of last Tuesday’s Algebra
III test and she didn’t.
.
Did you ever see that movie
where the guy and his ragtag
band of buddies (because no
band of buddies in any movie
ever is a monolith) try
to escape the Gestapo
down a convenient chute
and end up in a trash
compactor that’s just
about ready to do its thing?
You’ve often wondered
whether 3C, beneath you
is a real apartment,
or whether the rumble
that shakes the building
every Saturday at 3AM
.
sends the remnants
of crystal, mandrake root,
flour, yeast, sugar, cornmeal,
natural logarithms, and your
father’s collection of SS
medals into the channels
beneath the city that teem
with the uniform rat squad
and the inevitable morning-
after messy breakups
on their way to the sea
where, you hope,
there will be more room
to make these empanadas.
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Medium Chill, Mulberry Literary, and Remington Review, among others.