Rich Boucher

Rich Boucher
resides in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Rich’s poems have appeared in The Nervous Breakdown, The Daily Drunk, Eighteen Seventy, Drunk Monkeys and Cultural Weekly, among others, and has work forthcoming in Words & Whispers. Rich serves as Associate Editor for the online literary magazine BOMBFIRE ( He is the author of All Of This Candy Belongs To Me, a collection of poems published by Jules’ Poetry Playhouse Publications. Peep for more. He loves his life with his love Leann and their sweet cat Callie.

Who Could Think of Dying at A Time Like This?

With the reekstink of Budweiser and popcorn in the barroom we tussled and groped on the (broken, ripped, fragrant) couch beneath the dart board and I never would have imagined that finally a fantasy of mine (juvenile, real, Tuscadero) about a tryst with a biker babe (eye shadow like azure sky high school cerulean chalk) was coming true and it was after hours and only her motorcycle (Suzuki) and my car (not important) were in the lot in the back and this was a Sunday and the sun was holding on, dear, for life before slipping over the edge of the horizon (dream, image, wistfulness) to give the moon her chance (vampirism, cleavage, jugular) and Janet (not her real name, a lot like her real name) was on all fours still with her leather jacket on, jeans down to her boots pressing her sex to my face through her panties (one way to die is to smile when the times comes, thin cotton) and then the Eagles came on the jukebox which nearly killed the excitement for me but then I looked up at her face (Love’s Baby Soft, a whole life story worth more than mine) and her blue eye shadow and her feathered hair and I knew I was finally going to get the 1970’s in bed (lips and tongue illustrated) and I did and she said I was better than she thought I was going to be (first impressions and all that) and she was better than I thought I was going to be and then we both remembered that the world was coming to an end (minimum six feet distance, North Korea has launched), we saw it on the news (fake, real, imaginary), and we went one more time (last will and testament) and I took care of her and didn’t need her to take care of me and the Budweiser we had after tasted nearly like a an actual good beer.

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