Small Mouth Bass

In shallow water
Warmed by the sun
In a tranquil part of the stream
A shinny lure
Caught my eye
And I struck with force
And the lure lurched back
Ripping my lips
But it could have been worse
Had the hook set properly
The vicious fight for freedom
Frying pan
I escaped this angle-her
Who has already caught her limit
They’re by her boots
A strand of blond hair
Threaded through their gills
Awaiting her recipes
I’m the lucky one
This time
And so I wait
For this season to pass
And her fishing license
To expire.

The Fishing Lodge

You told me
About the northern lodge
Where you worked for a summer
In the season of your beauty
As a fishing guild
Leading men
How you bated them all
Into falling in love with you?
And how angry you got
At the one
Who didn’t strike
At your charming lures
remember how he said
you were angling the shallow waters of attention
and all stops shinning
when the seasonal sun sets