I have been forgetting
how much I enjoy
rod and reel
and kicking off my shoes to stretch and the times I have let snow talk to the tips of my toes from eyelash to fingernail and did not come to tears but came to an even scorch that left me ready to sleep. Do you remember how the mud burbled where my hook landed not ten feet away and the lead sinker sank, playing it off like ... this might be the first time I had to describe what peanut butter, honey, and banana slices tasted like instead of sounded like. "I think you should put that away," or maybe wait until I actually land
something good enough to call lunch.
Trash talking.
Pass me something.
If I don't catch one
God knows, I'm going to at least peg me one.
