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They told us we’d found
the true spirit of grindcore
but all we had were walks
on the beach and the inevitable
fondnesses for horses
and people that led to instant
eliminations on OKCupid. We
replied that there was no
true spirit of grindcore,
or if there was it had lived
in a jungle somewhere
in Uruguay but starved
in 1997. they did not respond
and so we all sat there, eyes
locked across the table, did
not speak even when
the waitress came to take
our orders. we were all served
the tongue on rye special
with extra sauerkraut.
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Red Coyote Review, Deep South Magazine, and Aromatica Poetica, among others.

Robert Beveridge
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