Municipal Waste by Robert Beveridge

“Stop the Ebola patients from entering the U.S.”–Donald Trump (via Twitter)

You’ve spent months behind the wheels of excavators so you could practice the delicate art of filling in cracks. They gave you a certificate yesterday, silly gothic font over preprinted credentials, to be presented with photo ID, W2, pay stubs, and the placental blood of your firstborn. They have small pencils at the table borrowed from the local mini-golf superstore, but for an occasion this special you brought your own fountain pencil that was your grandfather’s grandfather’s, shaft worn smooth and sweat-grey. Handed the ballot, you choose your divider. Open it.

Theocrats are endless, and when on the equipment you never studied how to dig. You feel a tickle at the back of your throat. Your fingers grip wood, spasm.

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