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
