Author: Bud Smith

Bud Smith lives in New York. His writing has appeared in Wordriot, Metazen, and theNewerYork. He blogs at

Reviews of the Corner Bodega

September 7th 2007


1. flickering light, foggy deli case
2. animal noises behind onion bin
3. clerk with veiny neck never there
4. beer in case is warm and not beer we want. price is reasonable though.
5. even the toilet paper is expired.

November 23rd 2007


1. nothing to cook here for Thanksgiving.
2. lobster ramen almost killed us once.
3. they’re out of beer.
4. meat in deli case is expanding inside it’s shrink wrap. Looks like a processed meat bomb. Sandwich guy has another tear drop tattoo.

March 8th 2008

1. sign on window:

July 10th 2010

1. activity at bodega
2. crew removes deli case
3. removes the desk with register
4. rips up entire floor
5. have a ten minute conversation with worker out on the street while he tries to get me to leave him alone, explaining the situation, saying, “You have no idea how my life has degraded since this bodega has closed. I have to walk up the hill for beer. I have to get lousy sandwiches at the place over by the hospital.
6. rest of crew getting annoyed at worker who is standing there talking to me instead of helping lug the onion bin out.
7. I tell all the workers I love them.
8. they ignore me.
9. they drag out a soda case and one guy rips his hand open on the door, blood everywhere. disconcerting. bad omen.

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Not Calculable

sorry I crushed things
sorry I ate the cake and ate the crate the eggs came in
sorry I devoured the ingredient list
we will never make a cake like that again
big apologies for the locked door
but you knocked too soft
big apologies for the last sip
the last word, the lost love
your hair clogging up the sink
you’re in debt
but not to me.

sorry your college degree was left out in the rain
and the mice gathered the dried up pieces
when the puddles were sucked back into the needy ground
word came in: everybody needs a nest in the shape 
of plentiful impracticable dreams
woke up one day and saw the world was a mess
I did nothing about it, poured myself some apple juice

sorry I love to hear you sing off-key when you’re angry
sorry I want to die on cable TV or not at all
sorry for the cracked moon, worthless saves
pitiful times, big apologies

big apologies
for pulling your hair while we fucked
and you got so mad you slapped me in the nuts

feel bad that your award got pulled apart 
by the car crushing robot
feel bad for getting sick all over your finest work
I am human and my errors
are not calculable.