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Robert Beveridge


Robert Beveridge makes noise ( and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Chiron Review, Riverrun, and Third Wednesday, among others.

All Apologies

I am sorry about the lye
that got in with the delicates
and the “have a happy divorce”
birthday present (even if
you really did like it). Sorry
I did not wait out our lease
before making our separation final.
The chicken attack, though—
not my fault. Poultry training
has never been my strong suit.

Meat the Color of Seaweed

There is magic in the fingers
of the pickpocket, magic
in the eyes of the coelacanth.
You circled the Peace Statue
seven times, chanted lines
from the Bhagavad-Gita
forwards, then reversed.
The tower, though, never
rebuilt itself. You reached
down to pay for a coney
with extra relish, discovered
your wallet gone,
only fishbones in its place.



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