There’s an ambulance around here
somewhere, driven by Rasputin,
or so local legend would have it.
He specializes in patients who have
been visited by psychopomps,
and the occasional young lass
who got a hint of tainted rabbit
at the birthday dinner. It is said
the passenger seat is always claimed
by an ocelot, spade fan gripped
in his paws, always, always in motion.
About the Author
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Blood and Thunder, Feral, and Grand Little Things, among others.