Crab Boil

Robert Beveridge

Next to the city in that little rundown bar

where Jimmy Loads is the only one who

ever touches the juke we put a bucket

in the middle of the table one night

and all four of us tossed in a bottlecap

every time Jimmy played side 2

of American Pie. He never played

side 1, only side 2, and every time

someone else even went near

that machine he'd snarl like a dingo

with half a cassowary to himself.

By the time we left, many many

trips to the urinals later, damn me

if that bucket weren't filled to the rim

and my veins half Bundaberg.

The four of us left Jimmy to it,

staggered home for a few hours'

sleep before another day of onion

prep, and I had nightmares about

the last train for the coast till dawn.

Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise ( and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Mason Street, Poetry Pea, and TMP Zine, among others.

Robert Beveridge
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