Tuesday, August 5, 2014

I'm fishing

Well, I’m fishing.
I’m sitting here
by this small river,
fishing pole in hand,
just sitting. And
This little collapsible stool
I’m sitting on is certainly
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.


Maureen said...

Makes me smile, Glynn.

Anonymous said...

it makes me smile too...

diana said...

Love this, Glynn! Sorta sums up most of my fishing experiences, actually. :-)

Martha Jane Orlando said...

Squirrel? :) I think Grey wanted some of your lunch, if not all of it. Playful, fun poem, Glynn. Blessings!

Aditi said...

Haha...cute!! :)