Baiting Hooks with Luke

At 9 years old

it’s funny how

half the bait slips off the hook

before it hits the water.

Plop.

A lonely barely-bit of bait,

not worth a triploid trout’s time, really—

makes it

into Rufus Woods Reservoir.

He shrugs, though, good enough—

just to get it out there,

sits down on the dusty rock

and waits

for a pulse on the line.

He owns this moment

as I watch him

smile a bit,

flick his foot in the water,

and gaze at the opposing hills;

while I wonder

what he’s thinking.

No more than half a minute goes by, and

tug—tug—tug.

‘Got one’ he says, not surprised, at all—

and begins reeling;

the rest of us look at each other,

shake our heads,

and laugh a bit in disbelief.

Something about

the faith of a child

to know you don’t have to

be perfect,

sometimes fish

are just hungry.

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

to be linking up with the amazing poets at dVerse Poets Pub this week