Mudlark

music ... 'twas angelic harmony the dire, wet sucking sound as he tunneled his arms through the red mud fingertips like fat worms burrowing ... tickling seeking the cool surprise of something ... ANYthing ... foreign, non-mud-like this warm, fetid muck of the wild Penobscot had been the only TRUE home his weary marrow had known years, ages, lifetime - a LIFE bleeding for the slippery bounty about him this deep, slimy silt that had once wrought his fortune now met his brittle bones with a barren womb and at most a here-and-there trinket baubles that brought dimes instead of dollars and a care-worn spirit. still, it mattered not to him the treasure was what met his senses ... pungent methanic aromas, warm smudge on his skin keen bite of the tide at flow sad, satiric cackles of the gulls and terns and that heavenly smacking of the red clay as it withdrew his rusty soul was as mired as his feet bound and baptized by the briny, buttery, beautiful bole of the wild Penobscot ... and one day, one day not too yonder - not too worn his aged and addled ashes and bones would be just as lucky and that was mighty fine ... with him. ~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Mudlark" Poetry Contest, Kai Michael Neumann, Judge & Sponsor. ~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Strand Pick 7, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.