Saturday, June 26, 2010

The Summer Sod House

The sod house was dark and hot in the August afternoon. The windows shut to disguise that she was there, effectively blocking what breeze there was. Sweat ran from her forehead, down her cheek, and eventually runs between her breasts. The soaked shirt she wore showed the softness beneath, sticking to her shape like a second skin. Her hair long, wet and stringy, fell to her shoulders and across her left eye. She stared at the door, hoping it wouldn’t open, wishing it would.

She rises from her chair and unbuttons the back of her skirt. She lets it fall to the floor revealing her nakedness that was once hidden underneath. Much better, a little cooler, she thought. She turns the back of the chair to the door and straddles it. This should distract them, she thought, for a minute or two. She runs her hand up her thigh and sighs to herself. She misses him, if he was here, she wouldn’t be in this position. Then maybe, if she’d sit like that more often, he might not leave home for so long.

Footsteps on the porch brings her back to reality. She reaches and picks up her colt six-shooter pistol and aimed at the door. The last thing he had done before leaving was teach her how to shoot. Now she has her target in her sights, she slowly squeezed the trigger as the door slowly opened. She dropped her gun as she recognized the figure back lit by the setting sun.

“Amanda?” he said, his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness of the cabin.

“Hank.” she yelled as she jumped into his arms, the smell of the trail exciting her more as he held her.

His hands moved down to her bare assets, “I didn’t know you were expecting me.” he whispered as he move his hand around between them. He unbuckled his gun, his pants belt and finally his pants and let them fall to the floor. His hand then started to make her moan. He laid her on the table and remembered why he hurried back. Their rhythm began to move the table across the dirt floor where they fell into a sweaty heap as they exploded in utter excitement.

“Oh, by the way,” she said, “Mom has come to visit.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Why I Don't Write Poetry - Part 11

I look to the west and see the east.
What's the meaning of this weird beast?
Who can respond to such a quest?
I have no answer, not a guess.

I look up and only see down.
There lies that lazy ole hound.
I wandered to the kitchen for a snack
Not walking forward, but walking back.

My world is in a tizzy
My head spins all dizzy.
Oh look, the answer I found
My bifocals are turned upside down.