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/

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