Bud Smith

side yard

the cowgirl
of southern new jersey
smokes endlessly
on mossy cellar steps
sipping skunked beer
awaiting the plop of rain
the motorcycle
ripping down the street
even the missing
in action mailman
to bring her a letter
from almost anyone.

Trix's Marina

I think the tide is low

and those black (spots) blobs

floating in the white light

made by the moon

are ducks

Sometimes thing come into focus 

behind the marsh grass

and make the dock glow

or shadows grow

across the cracked sailboat hull

laying sideways in the mud

"I'm gonna cum," I say

and her head lifts up

Shannon finishes me with her hand

her pink watch slapping my thigh

"That was a lot," she says

When I flick on the headlights

I see there are no ducks

there are no extra lives

it's just two styrofoam coolers

bobbing up and down

surrounded by seaweed 

and trash

she says she's ready to go home.

For more of Bud's work, visit http://budsmithwrites.com/author/budsmith/