I fish for pleasure and to relax.
It’s the best way
to sort out details of a plan
that needs flawless execution.
Every useful thing I know
I learned sitting in the bottom
of a boat across from my granddaddy
in one of Mississippi’s finest
fishing holes. How to
pick out the best spot. How to
get there early. How to lay
low, be patient and wait.
Watching your cork disappear
in the water, bob back up and run
is as thrilling as sneaking your hand
up under a pretty girl’s skirt.
They all put up a lil’ fight, at first
but sooner or later a lucky man
will get his hands on a cat;
a patient man, inside a big wide mouth.
of a wet body, flapping about
and gasping for breath
that gives me chills, even now.
Sometimes we’d just sit and smoke,
swim in some ice cold beers,
enjoy the sound of no women around
or shoot at ghosts if fish weren’t biting.
Sometimes we’d get drunk and argue
for hours about who would win
in a fair fight between his nigger, jack,
and that nigger, joe louis.
He rode me hard for bragging
about catching the big one,
but I know he bragged even harder
about teaching me how to fish.