Poem – Outsiders (By Robert Beveridge)

Outsiders

 

The Club

sits in the back

in the middle

talks over old times

 

it’s an amoeba

that splits

every once in a while

pieces

go off to New York

or Indianapolis

but always

pull back together

up here

 

a few drunk poets

wander in

now and again

but do not understand

the amoeba fraternity

 

these outsiders

are the blades

that puncture the amoeba

infuse it with their blood

their life

 

but it doesn’t notice

of course

just goes on

with its reminiscences

 

you look across

the room

like one of the outsiders

 

your lack of turtleneck

and corduroy

give you away

 

but you’re the perfect infusion

for this amoeba

 

your eyes algae green

your hair blood red

 

your voice caramel dark

thick, made to flow

reminiscences of a past

you only half believe in

 

after a few hours

a few trips to The Club

you like all the outsiders

look bored

 

I know

I’ve been here

for centuries

still I sit

against the wall

 

 

so come over

and sit beside me

 

maybe together

we can find

a way out

 

Author Bio:

Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Wildflower Muse, Noble/Gas Qtrly, and The Ibis Head Review, among others.