You Sleep the Sleep of the Scorched Cockroach

Crushed. Crushed behind the incinerator
with a forgotten Frito’s bag and a pound
and a half of charred cardboard.
If only there were a way to free
your withered, wasted left arm,
rendered useless by a mango Jell-O
accident some months ago. Even the rats
have taken pity on you, leave gravlax
and sour cream just within your reach.
You lie and wait until the next time
the building handyman arrives with burnables.

 

About the Poet:
Robert Beveridge spends far too much time writing poetry (recently: Guide to Kulchur, The Starving Artist, Rat’s Ass Review, Forthcoming: Sonic Boom) and making noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) when he should probably be attempting to make money. He finds coffee insufferable, prefers cricket to baseball, and spends as much time as possible in the company of his fellow dissolute wastrels. He lives just outside Cleveland, Ohio.

 

Poetry Breakfast accepts submissions of poetry and poetry related creative non-fiction year-round.  See our Submission Guidelines page for details on submitting your work.

 

Photo by P Stiegele.

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