Louisiana drop shot slip knot crawler,
Grandfather’s dirt-bloodied, rock-rough hands —
I birdnest every other cast into tea-dark water,
while back to my back he tackles larger plans:
tri-hook torpedo lures, deep diving silver spoons,
giant skirted spinner baits that churn and spit
across sunrise mirror stillwater, past raucous loon.
Even a scaled-down, taped-up Louisville Slugger fit
to pummel any lunker into cross-eyed submission!
By midday we hardly speak. I bobber for Pumpkinseed
while he bullseyes musky patrolling the sunken reeds.
Terrified yet of tooth and hook, grandeur or ambition,
what difference between what I want and what I wish?
Stop casting for minnows, son. Big lures, big fish!
Read by Dave Bonta — Download the MP3
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I come from a family of fishers so really enjoyed this, it sounds so good aloud.
This poem has such wonderful energy! Though I know nothing about fishing, I love its language and sense of rhythm.
Great sonnet with a light ending. Well done. I didn’t knows there were muskies (never seen it spelled “musky”) in Lousiana tea water. I thought there were only alligator gars. Looks like the bat is for a big forky tail. Love fishing poems, this one, a keeper!