A Boy Fishing

A Boy Fishing

Summer

Watches a walking stick upon a branch

impaling aphids with his glance,

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tickles the wiggle of a crawler, red and slick,

festooned in pearls of shining thick

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mud and chases damsels flitting on netted

wings, and loopworms pirouetted

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under dancing willow leaves, a boy fishing

skips stones and sends them dishing

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concentrically across the green water,

then runs and slips mudfirst down the otter

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bank, startling frogs who join the splash,

stains his face in the mulberry cache

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all before threading his first shining treble

hook, holding the elastic minnow eye-level

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to watch the fascinating gore. Unwinds the cane

pole’s line and plops bobber in sinker’s train

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deep in the water. Props it on a crooked

stick and remembers that he hasn’t looked

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under the mossed and lapping rocks that linger

along the lakeshore. Entices with a finger,

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a crawdad, lifts it pinching from its murky cave

then dares its claws with nose to see how brave

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he is. From a corner of his eye he sees the pole

bobbling, whooping, pounces on it whole

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and rassles alligators taking fancy flight

with his imagination. Yanks up hard to set tight

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the barbed point as an iridescent redear leaps

and disappears, steals his bait and flees,

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but disappointment sheds at sight of watersnake

swimming esses on the water’s slate,

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another wrestling match to contemplate!

time yet to curl in the nesting grass

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and nap before it gets too late, bob-o-cane

tucked underfoot, count cloud fleece,

and the days left til its back to school.

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© Chuck Elledge 2002