Fish

It was that
Late summer
Early fall
Indian summer

Before hunting
Season when the
Light is clean and
The colors flaxen

I headed out
After school in
My Dad’s pick-up
To fish in the thin
Hours before dark

Out at my grandparents
Ranch in the creek
Through the big woods
And in the small irrigation
Ditches that bisected
The grain and alfalfa
Fields off the creek

Into the neighbor
Place there was a
Small stream
Hidden in the grasses

Fish like to hide
And I let my
Line drift into
The darkness with
A fresh worm on
The Eagle Claw No. 10

I had just let
The line slide in
When a big trout hit

I set the hook
And played it
Until I could
Bring it in.

My Dad called
His friend over
To see the fish
When I got home

It was a fat
18 inch Rainbow
That curled round
The creel.