Our Lady of the Sewer Grate by Robert Beveridge

Dollhouse teacups must be washed
by hand; dishwashers will crack
and stain, manila fade that
pattern you paid a premium for.
Tea, premixed with laudanum,
served with an eyedropper;
Teddy has looked listless
this past week, could use
a pick-me-up. Two flies
buzz over the Napoleon, land,
find the frosting unpalatable,
move on in search of more
sugary pastures. Top-hatted
rabbit leans in, snips
a dandelion, ruminates.


Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Neologism, In Between Hangovers, and Clementine Unbound, among others.

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