Monash, and St Hunger's Day by Robert Beveridge

Monash

You have what it takes. You told the headhunter you have no experience but you’ve always been good at picking it up on the job. You asked the mall Santa for an AR15 and promised you’d be the best little boy with the best words. You know stardom means they’ll let you do it, let you do anything. When you stumble you go into an interpretive dance to cover. No disease is too serious to be mocked. Your solution to the crisis is to employ the person with the finest looking hound. You got your bachelor’s degree on Ramadan and wrecked it in a drunk driving accident three hours later. You make machine gun noises with your underarms and get a standing ovation from the largest crowd in history. 

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St Hunger's Day

the ache continues
each day a touch
deeper between
the bones

the pen
grows hot
in my hands

the injections
supposed
to relieve pain
for six months
last two
if I'm lucky

what will happen
when I
can no
longer write?

Footnote: ed. note: it exists! December 22nd. Hunger was a Bishop of Utrecht in the 800s

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Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Throats to the Sky, FEED, and Sublunary Review, among others.

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