ed. note: When not Shunn-formatted, the title should be capitalized normally save that “ARE” should be all caps.
by Robert Beveridge
The sparrows outside the window hop back and forth, seek someone to blame for the half-built nest repossessed by the mockingbirds. They stop on occasion to peck at the breadcrumbs scattered by the chimp on the bench, briefcase open next to him. He reads a page of Baudrillard, redistributes a piece of bread, reads another page, repeats until his lunch hour is finished. The passersby all wear paper plates with elastic attached, hand-drawn faces. Mumble behind them of things we are glad, always, we cannot hear. Time to go back to the office, while away another afternoon with Alice Mutton in your earphones, spreadsheets full of figures you will someday understand, you believe, if you stare at them long enough. Then home to your half-built nest and its unruly, obnoxious new roommates.
I identify as QUILTBAG (bi/pan), neurodivergent (anxiety requiring multiple hospitalizations/GAD/SAD/depression/suspected by a number of mental health professionals of being on the autism spectrum but not tested because “the tests are expensive and you’re too old for the treatment methodologies to do anything”), and disabled (arthritis since 1992, now walking with a cane over 90% of the time/chronic bloodborne cellulitis resulting in multiple multi-week hospitalizations/ recent heart attack survivor! [21Jul2019]). [New! Improved! Now officially listed as disabled by the U.S. government as of 3Mar2020!] Now fall into the “older” category (50+). Adopted and entirely unfamiliar with my (birth) family history.
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Red Coyote Review, Deep South Magazine, and Aromatica Poetica, among others.