My Little Chickadee ~ poetry by Robert Beveridge

Flounce skirted stranger orders
a bourbon, stares only at a reflection
between the bottles. Nate the piano
player pounds out “Honolulu Baby”
even though Hawai’i will not be
discovered for a dozen years.
“Sandwich Island Baby” doesn’t
sound as good, I guess. The two
brothers sit beyond the ell, toss
back kamikazes, bet which one
she’ll go out with. Neither approaches
to ask. A waft of Mabel’s oxtail
soup invades from the back, reminds
the drinkers each is hungry.

Robert Beveridge makes noise ( and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Savant-Garde, Other People’s Flowers, and The Indiana Horror Review, among others.

Show Robert some love via PayPal at xterminal(at)gmail(dot)com.