Robert Beveridge

Across the road
the old alcoholic frame
of the dead warehouse
beckons me

I look for a pattern
in broken and boarded-
up windows
an explanation, perhaps

as if it would say
“I once housed automobiles
parts for machines
to make the burden of work
easier on the human race

before the machines took over
and left me standing here
alone on this corner
useless,
useless.”

 

Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Chiron Review, Zombie Logic Review, and The Literateur, among others.
Photo by Andira Dodge