ROBERT BEVERIDGE – Le Chaudron Infernale


Shattered barrier a mile
and a half back, road now
little more than weed-
encrusted dirt. Shift
the eyepatch, clear blood
from the gearshift. The quarry
must be close. Time to stop,
kill the engine, put boots
on the ground. Spoor
is ephemeral, more so
in this rain. The night vision
goggles fit just right over
your hijab; pursuit begins. 

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