March 10, 2005


There are so many poems
about fishing, but itís been
ten year since I touched a pole.

It takes patience and hope
to cast a line into murky lake
and wait

for some fish to bite
the baited hook and hold on
long enough to be pulled

flopping from the water.
Cool, foggy dawns
in rusty, old rowboats

rocking with the current
are totally foreign.
I donít know

the places or the proper times
to drop a line
and couldnít tell

bluegill from smallmouth bass.
Maybe that is why Iíve never
made much of a poet.

Posted by dpetrella at March 10, 2005 07:29 PM | TrackBack

I went fishing before it's cool.

Posted by: Christopher at June 12, 2005 03:43 PM
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