"The Watchman in Modern Times: A Social History"
they saw, they lusted,
they took wives, the daughters
of men. They were cast down
but their get
half-immortal, and remain today.
But one survives. A woman,
an observer, who peers out
from atop a ledge on Ararat.
Her stoop is home to scattered bones
from years of meals gone by, replacement lenses
for her binoculars. She looks out,
never nods nor writes things down,
just looks. This is her sad, sad office.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Pulsar, Tessellate, and Scarlet Leaf Review, among others.