"The Watchman in Modern Times: A Social History"

They came,

they saw, they lusted,

they took wives, the daughters

of men. They were cast down


but their get

remained, half-human,

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.



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.

Robert Beveridge