Minimum Rage

By Robert Beveridge                                             

A threadbare forest in miniature.

He lines matchsticks up on the tabletop,

counts them out, compares

with the rest of his pack of Mavericks.

Seven of each, maybe a quarter more

if you count the butt he had to stuff

back in the pack because he couldn't

find a trash can.

He dreams of a day soon when he

will have a paycheck, be able to buy

fifteen glorious matches, fifteen smokes,

build a forest he can't see for the trees.

Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry on unceded Mingo land (Akron, OH). Recent/upcoming appearances in Rat's Ass Review, SurVision, and Wireworm, among others.