The last piece of what was once the Lodge
caved in today. All roads now lead
to a rubble-filled hole
in the ground frequented
only by inquisitive children, rodents,
and the odd bargain hunter or two.
The men of the Lodge now meet at the fire station.
Membership has dropped.
No one remembers how the Lodge fell,
only that one morning chunks of rock
were scattered about the sidewalk.
From there, it was time, erosion,
the slow crawl from love to indifference.
Collapse draws heavily on the FMV game Harvester, which came out right around that same time, but other than that, the two have zero in common. Relationships are universal, as much so as abandoned buildings, and often suffer the exact same fate. I thought a lot about whether this one should go here, and whether it undercut the theme. But ultimately I think of Pride (in the QUILTBAG sense) as visibility, exposure, rather than celebration, and it strikes me that bright-siding it is doing the entire idea a disservice. And thus, here we are.
Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. He celebrated the thirtieth anniversary of his first publication in November 2018, and has since published over a thousand poems. Recent/upcoming appearances in Cough Syrup, Penumbra, and Lowestoft Chronicle, among others.