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.
Poetry Breakfast 