The Relaxation Factor
“Every step”, the cheerful recorded
voice pointed out, “may be your last.
You should take as few as possible
on your way through the field.” We
broke out the poles, stripped shoes
and socks to make sure we got
the best feel of the soil, knew none
of these things would help if Uwe
heard that click beneath his heel.
Or any of us really, but Uwe just
has that kind of luck, you know? Like
he’s the only guy who would come back
from leave with the crabs, and then
when we got through the shells we’d
find they all suffered some sort
of wasting disease. At least none
of them found themselves here,
with a busload of tourists who thought
the dangerous package meant we’d
stay in a hostel in the bad part of town.
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Page and Spine, The Pointed Circle, and Failed Haiku, among others.