Three Poems

by Robert Beveridge

Haze

Sweetness tasted

in the sweat

that collects

beneath each pearl

on your necklace

Smoke ‘em if You Got ‘em

There are allegations of camembert

in the darkest corner of the theatre,

secret Nazi meetings in the basement

of the local Planned Parenthood.

“Don’t worry,” the guy in the next

booth says to the person opposite

him, “the lizard people will take

care of it all.” Your back is to him

so you can’t see, but from the smell

you assume his syllables are muffled

by chicken and waffles. Pumpkin

spice flavored, of course, what

with October and all. Outside

the plate glass, a car goes by

with a bumper sticker that says

I Climbed Mt. Washington.

Whether this surprises you depends

on whether Mt. Washington still

exists where you are, or whether

it has been transformed into the sort

of thing people eat in secret while

they watch Ostia: The Death of Pasolini.

Suburbia

Doylestown, PA, 11May1990

filaments from a scratchy gramphone

in the window above a storefront.

Yodeled ululations

of drunkhappy teenagers

ring off the pavement, drone

in the ears of the bum

in the doorway.

Exhausted lovers

in the back of a Dodge

rest before another wordless quarrel.

Horny ten-year-olds watch them,

squeak the steam from their

binoculars' lenses.

A wandering musician strums by,

echoes of Baby Lee thrum

through Louis' trumpet.

BIO: Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry on unceded Mingo land (Akron, OH). He published his first poem in a non-vanity/non-school publication in November 1988, and it's been all downhill since. Recent/upcoming appearances in The Green Silk Journal, In Parentheses, and Wales Haiku Journal, among others.