I'm fishing

Well, I’m fishing.

I’m sitting here

by this small river,

fishing pole in hand,

just sitting. And

fishing.

This little collapsible stool

I’m sitting on is certainly

comfortable

for the first five minutes.

I’m fishing.

My butt hurts. But

if I move I might scare

the fish away, all those fish

pointedly ignoring

the bait, the hook, the line.

I wait, and my butt hurts,

so to distract myself

I commune with nature,

talk to trees,

swear silently

at the squirrel who’s

bothering my lunch

(don’t scare the fish)

(I’m beginning to doubt

there are any fish

to scare),

nod at the birds,

nod off, off and on.

I’m fishing.

My butt doesn’t hurt

any more.

It’s numb.

Tweetspeak Poetry has a poetry prompt (and playlist) about fishing as a metaphor for life. Actually, it’s not a metaphor for my life. I hope. Anyway, check out the link and try your hand as a fishing poem.

Photograph by Peter Griffin via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.