portion of the artwork for Robert Beveridge's poem

Jack’s
Metropolis, Part 9
Robert Beveridge

Outside Jack’s Bar,
a wall of bottles
bums shiver in their sleep
behind Jack’s stained
glass confessional

Inside, men drink
and watch TV:
an actor has been shot,
seven mafiosi in custody,
strange goings-on at the Solebury house
that could be vandalism
or just teenagers partying.

Bobby’s father
looks at the lemon slice
with his tequila.
A few stray ashes
have drifted onto it.
Impatient,
he wipes them off.
Shoots, bites
the lemon.
Bitter juice with a trace
of ash floods his mouth.

Another person
too drunk to balance
slides from his barstool
and eases to the floor.

Bobby’s father
speaks to no one
in particular.


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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 51 | Spring/Summer 2018