THE BOY AND THE FISH

Where are all the little fish,

I use to see here all the time,

When I waded out past the lily pads,

And, the gross, green frog egg slime,

It's such a trudge out into the lake,

With a cane poll in one hand,

In the other hand I hold a sack of worms,

Sealed with mama's rubber band,

 Now, I cast around my cane poll,

On the end is a hook with a piece of worm,

I let the hook and worm sink down,

Waiting for the line to start to squirm,

Back in school I am no athlete,

Nor, no great brain in second grade,

But, out here I'm a genius Olympian,

Because, I know where and how to wade,

I move slowly leaving a grazing wake,

Then, stop  still at the edge of a deep drop,

Thinking, the time I take is the time I take,

That was taught me by my late pop,

I pull back my cane poll and back flies the hook,

The line drops behind me several feet,

Whipping the poll makes line and bait fly,

The bait plops now, the setup is complete,

In just a moment my lines runs out further, really tight,

Then, slacks-off as it comes toward me,

It turns again, now it's a fight,

It is a big one, I can see,

I see it is a great big bass,

It leaps and fights to be free,

But, he's hooked good, he's going nowhere,

except to supper for mom and me,

I had no net to land the big fish,

So, I backed up pulling him toward the shore,

Working him through the lily pads,

Was a relentless, unplanned chore,

Since it was pan-fish I catch near those lily pads,

The bass must of scared them off this day,

Of course, the big fish is better for dinner,

Because, they're boneless and easy to fillet,

 

I've got the fish out of the water,

I'm pulling him far up on the land,

It don't matter now if the hook pops out when he flops,

He'll just flip and flop in the sand,