City Pool
by M.R. Smith

I exit the city dripping,
sagging like hip-hop pants,
equally useless; my arms
clutched from my risk-on day.

On the train I think
I must be a sight
with my eyes wide and
leaving a trail like a slug.

My night will consist
of vigorous motion,
pacing, tossing, turning;
trying to dry off

before tomorrow when
I must make another
ill-advised steep dive
into the shallow end.

M.R. Smith lives in Boise, ID and will have work appearing in the fall in The Red River Review.

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