Poem #2,753 | Gone Fishing

There are two auld men
who would rather fish in
fast rivers than flounder
in front of a screen [slap
on rocks by quick slips &
constant current flow as
an interference] – Ahead
finitude’ll swirl in a pool
& offer a quiet drowning
for both – They cast out –
fly & float to tease glints
to feed – nibble & then a
pull to hook – they don’t
mention fish pain – Rod
& landing net’ll connect
by lifted line to win that
round – No extraction is
shown – They’ll creak as
they bend to cast it off –
And away is their call to
each release [it will be a
wiser fish] – Age will eye
each river turn – erosion
is felt [depositions less]