Gerard C. Smith says of himself,

“I'm from beautiful Beaufort, South Carolina where I

live on the water. When I'm not fishin' or drinkin' beer I write stuff. Novels, short stories, flash fiction, poems.
My work can be found in Literary Potpourri, Gator Springs Gazette, Iguanaland, Flush Fiction Magazine, and Dead Mule, Painted Moon Review, The Glut, and Flask Fiction, The Beat, Dispatches, and Cellar Door.
I'm currently shopping my novel WHITE LIGHTNING, murder in the world of Nextel Cup racing.”
Gerard’s got himself a way with words that pastes a smile on my coyote mug. He’s got quite a mug too.

Hank Williams in a Cadillac
Never made that Canton act
He lay down his head and died
Fans by the millions cried

Back seat of that Cadillac
Sure wasn't a heart attack
It was livin' wild, livin' fast
Shootin' up when he passed

Ole Hank he had his fill
Of lonely mansion on the hill
No jambalaya or crawfish pie
On the day he chose to die

Hank lived the honky-tonk life
Cheated some on his wife
Swilled quarts of brown liquor
OD on horse made it quicker

I was a kid, about fifteen
When old Hank quit the scene
Went to the devil that’s my bet
It's mine too says daughter Jet

So old Hank went away
Not to return another day
To row a pirogue on the Bayou
He tipped his Stetson and said bye you

Or maybe it was goodbye Joe
got a row to hoe, gotta go;
I’ll tell it straight, tell it level
I gotta go and meet the devil

So we lament that Hank passed on
We could not believe he was gone
That country songs he'd write no more
Old Hank's locked behind devil's door