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Friday, January 22, 2010


I imagine that I must have surprised you,
What with your waiting game, your sport,
Exhausting me with your angler’s skill,
You having had me hooked, long, on the line,
It was the lure, you,
I swallowed you whole.
I had not seen the great barb nestled in the fly,
I fell to your beauty, the dazzle, your shimmer,
And I ate your right to the lead sinker.

I was your catch.

I believed every thing you said.

Who might have divined it?
Given the great tensile strength your reel’s nylon wire
Hard to phantom I might break it;
But I took a deep dive toward bottom,
Then I broke surface with a five-foot leap above water.
A snap announced how taut had grown the tension,
Boat and bait had lost all connection.

Who would have envisioned it?
My swimming with that hook still puncturing my mouth,
Your fisherman’s string, its segment,
It’s running with me for at least a yard along side,

My injury, it hurts, and I’ll bear it for life,
But I have set myself at liberty,
Free to travel world’s grand and open ocean seas.

And may I ask, again,
Would anyone ever believe such a fish story?

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