2009 -- 2.1 (Fall) Poetry


The fishing pole I used always held up

to whatever I would catch. Of course,

I always knew better than to

try and lift a bigger fish out of the water

than the rod could stand.

I would use the best reels,

the best fishing line and

I would oil that sucker every few

fishing trips unless it got

wet. Then I would oil it every time.

I guess I should have fished the lakes

of Kentucky when I lived

there. They were huge and so

inviting. Tournaments all the time

loaded with huge cash prizes.

Nancy was always good to me,

when we were dating.

We really loved each other,

at first.

I packed up and moved to be

with her, eight hundred miles from

my family.

She never wanted to go fishing

with me and the dogs.

I soon lost interest in fishing.

I told myself I just didn’t

have the time anymore.

The fights came, and then

the medical problems.

There was nothing worse than

being laid up and needing help

and not being able to get any.

Eventually, I healed and

my fishing rod got put away.

The thought of not fishing

anymore is still painful,

even though the catch just

wasn’t as good as I thought

it was originally.