maybe you require
my face, features,
presence, audible voice,
& the light in my eyes
to appreciate & picture me
fishing with my son
at gravel pit lake. my
line is wrapped
in absurd chaos thru
leafy branches, &
half my yellow pole
is a like a slow
twirling baton
on the green
water. doug
on the other hand
pulls up a small trout
perfectly hooked.
i stand there
on a muddy, pebbled bank
under canopies of maple,
oak, locust, & weeping-
willow trees
like a poet.
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