Fishin' boys...

Fishin’ boys

Perched atop a floating dock

I watched my boys a’fishin

Impatiently reeling in battered bait.

No crank bait or buzz bait

Just quartered shrimp

Jerked and jigged back to shore

Barely given a chance 

to lure with their reeking allure.

My neophyte anglers, rods in hand

Spasmodically and spastically reel 

their lines into tangled backlashes

of knots and rat’s nests

evidence of irascible impatience.

But the glow—the glow is worth it.

All the snarled knots to disentangle

All the fish hooks to bait—and bait again.

All the slimy hands and runny noses

All the miscasts and mishaps…

These could never eclipse the glow.

The glow waits for the big one to bite

Their eyes believe that Moby Dick

is hiding right beneath the dock

Just hungry enough to nibble on that

Dismembered decapod crustacean

And just overweight enough to not 

put up a fight if hooked in the lip.

They believe.  They hope.  They know.

And it’s this glow in their countenance 

that takes a guy like me and makes him

A fisherman—

not because I like fishing

But because I like to be with my boys 

who like fishing

Their expectancy spills into my soul

Filling up my cup as theirs runs over.

It’s a thing to behold and be held by.