Contraindicated

by Robert Beveridge

it may be just down the street but somehow it is still out of reach, behind the glass, under the manhole, strapped to your back like C4 to which you’ve never held the detonator. it may be in the corner of your eye but no matter how many times you grab your upper lid and pull it over your lower the tears don’t wash it out and you rub, you rub it may be in your head but you didn’t put it there even with all the books you read and all the TV you watched, it just grew on its own, lurked out of sight below the skull it may not have been at the bottom of this bottle or at the bottom of any other bottle you have ever finished but you are certain it will be at the bottom of the next one