A poem by Robert Beveridge

“Hello,” she said,
“I’m from the IRS
and I’m here to help you.”

The knee-length leather
skirt should’ve given
her away
but he was too busy
lost in her cleavage
and grey eyes

He thought
he was fucked
after the audit
but her makeup
was still perfect

so he couldn’t tell

Robert Beveridge makes noise (check out his Bandcamp page) and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, Ohio. He went through a messy divorce with Facebook some months ago, and as a result his relationship with time is much improved. His work has made recent/will make upcoming appearances in Ghost City Press, minor literature[s], and Barking Sycamores, among others.