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A Fishing Story
The gray-haired recovery room nurse
was checking his patient’s vitals.
Boy-like, the man trapped in a blurry world
asked the nurse, once again, to tell him a story.
Well sir, Doc poked a tube down your throat,
then he was off to face his first danger
of the day. He whistles while he works—
still young and full of skip, you know.
He then made twists and turns, glided through
valleys before he came to the bridge
with splayed fingers, holding up
titanium-planks straddling Troublesome Creek.
There, Doc must have heard a stirring. Banked
his canoe. Next, he placed a tiny net
at the tip of his pole into a hole of cold water
where trout laugh at fishermen throwing flies.
After the precise work was done,
Doc straightened his back and said something
about the long body of river, how she swept
debris away. Called it majestic.
In time, he paddled back north like
a salmon swimming upstream.
Oh, you did great. Slept soundly.
Doc did great, too. More ice?
The gray-haired recovery room nurse
was checking his patient’s vitals.
Boy-like, the man trapped in a blurry world
asked the nurse, once again, to tell him a story.
Well sir, Doc poked a tube down your throat,
then he was off to face his first danger
of the day. He whistles while he works—
still young and full of skip, you know.
He then made twists and turns, glided through
valleys before he came to the bridge
with splayed fingers, holding up
titanium-planks straddling Troublesome Creek.
There, Doc must have heard a stirring. Banked
his canoe. Next, he placed a tiny net
at the tip of his pole into a hole of cold water
where trout laugh at fishermen throwing flies.
After the precise work was done,
Doc straightened his back and said something
about the long body of river, how she swept
debris away. Called it majestic.
In time, he paddled back north like
a salmon swimming upstream.
Oh, you did great. Slept soundly.
Doc did great, too. More ice?
