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Eddy drove slowly along the levee
with Satchmo (his dog with the growly voice),
and a fishing pole.
He was searching for a fishing hole
where the big ones would likely be.
When he saw her clothes hanging in the bushes
and her dimly through the trees.
She was skinny dipping.
He had to get closer to see.
He slammed to a stop,
jumped quickly out of his truck
and started down the bank,
when his feet slipped and headed for the sky.
He landed with a loud plop,
flat on his backside.
Satchmo thought he was playing
and jumped right square in his middle
And away they went.
The dust flew as they skidded down the bank
at a high rate of speed,
scooping dirt up his pant legs on the way,
with Satchmo on top (like a king on a throne)
barking every foot of the way.
They slid dead center through clumps of brush,
clumps that brought forth
anguished Tarzan- like cries.
Eddies elbow hit a rock
that forced another painful cry.
The rough bark of a passing tree
scraped the side of his face
and mangled one ear,
while Satchmos wagging tail
pounded and beat on the other.
He tore the seat clear out
of his brand new jeans,
and a little bit of him.
They landed at the bottom,
with Eddies shiny hand tooled boots
scraped and jammed deep in mud.
He slowly struggled to his feet,
the dirt in his pant legs
filled both boots right to the very top
and a snake came wiggling out.
His thirty dollar shirt
was covered with cockleburs,
nettles, and Lord knows what else,
even the sleeve was torn.
His arm was paralyzed with shooting pains
from fingertips to shoulder.
His crotch ached from the clumps of brush,
The pain had him doubled over.
Satchmo was having a good time
barking and barking, running and jumping,
then barking again.
She heard the commotion
and was out of the water,
dressed and gone, before Eddie
could sneak the slightest little peek.
All his thoughts of fishing
and peeking were over.
The slippery bank had done him in.
Scrambling and clawing
their way back to the truck,
he discovered the clumps of brush
were poison oak.
No wonder he itched so bad.
When he stuck his head above the bank,
he was eye level to a tire gone flat
and he had no spare.
He limped and groaned
two miles to the nearest station.
Satchmo ran it in circles.
It cost thirty dollars
to get the tire fixed and back on the truck.
The fishing was getting expensive.
When the tire man left
They jumped in the truck
to head back home.
The key was in the ignition
and on, the battery dead.
Eddy laid his head
on the steering wheel,
he almost cried.
Another two mile hike
And twenty dollars
to the tow truck driver
for the battery boost.
They were finally on their way.
He saw her prancing
along the road up ahead,
swinging her arms and hips
in a fun kind of way.
Watching her he hit a tree
and smashed his nose on the windshield.
The blood was running free.
He banged his stomach
on the steering wheel,
He could barely breathe.
The tree was splintered and down.
Satchmo just sat there
watching the geyser of water
and steam up front, wagging his tail.
Eddy sat on the ground, his back to his truck
with his head in his hands.
His wallet was empty
not even one buck.
His nose was bloody
and his stomach in pain.
His crotch still ached
from the clumps of brush.
He was filthy and tattered,
dirt and cockleburs
were in both boots.
He could be snake bit,
he wasn't quite sure.
The itchy poison oak
was driving him mad,
the nettle in his hands
didn't help very much.
He was scraped and torn
from top to bottom.
The Surgeon General
should put a warning out;
CAUTION! SKINNY DIPPING IS A DANGER TO YOUR HEALTH!
Eddy wondered if she might
skinny dip again tomorrow.
He and Satchmo
would have to come fishing to see.
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05/30/2002

Posted on 05/30/2002
Copyright © 2024 Charles E Minshall