Things I Hear In My Sleep by Robert Beveridge

The low, rhythmic thrum
in the apartment behind

the bathroom wall is

a beacon for alien space-

craft. Whether we will

ever see any positive

results is anyone’s guess,

but unless the neighbors

throw pizza on the roof

every other Thursday,

I think pepperoni and olives

warrant further investigation.

The barflies at the grange

hall swear they’ve all

seen lights in the sky

that have the distinct color

of banana peppers,

and the unmistakable

scent of pineapple hangs

over the town at odd hours.

When the disembodied voice,

they counsel, asks if you

would like extra cheese,

you smile and nod, reply

that the weekend is

just over the horizon.


---


Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Blood and Thunder, Feral, and Grand Little Things, among others.


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