Malpractice — by Robert Beveridge

crouches in the corner

stares at your internal organs

through a ninety eight cent pair

of comic book x-ray glasses

asks if you’ve taken care of your liver

googles recipes behind its back

thinks femur is the past participle of freedom

uses it to bash you over the head until

you agree to a copay of a pint of blood

and three gherkins from the back of the fridge

is skilled at the application

of the Colombian necktie

would like to know if you’re

finished with those fries

only needs two more credit hours

AUTHOR BIO:

Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Freshwater Literary Journal, Boundless, and Blue As an Orange, among others.