Mud

By CL Bledsoe

It’ll suck you in if you slow
down. Each step, a throaty
release of rubber coming free
of deep mud. A line of men pulling
a net across the darkness
to gather catfish, buffalo fish,
dumpgulls circling overhead.
All of them working on
hangovers from the night before.
This is how bodies are broken,
not with a crack but a slow push.
I was afraid if I stepped in,
I’d never get free.