Poetry: Rhonda Goes Fishing

Uncle Marcus comes rapping on your bedroom door
one Saturday morning.
Says he got a can full of worms
and your cane pole,
just like old times. Unc, what you better have is some coffee! He
flashes a bright red thermos
from behind his back.
Gotcha, girl!

You\'re surprised unt Ruby\'s in the car. Sick or not, woman love to fish your
uncle says proudly.

In the back of his ol\' Cadillac
you sway to gospel on the radio drinking black coffee like it\'s Kool-Aid.


You even get your favorite spot on Ford Lake. Ruby in her lawn chair smoking
steady
watching her bobber like it was her own heart out there
beating in the water. Marcus has got on his ol\' ugly lucky
lucky fishing hat an unlit cigar dangling from his lips
like a fat worm. You\'re still fighting sleep
but like the feel of that old cool cane pole
in your hands.

Still, nothin but blue gills
til your bobber
disappears and you feel the hit all the way up your arms.

Marcus bounds over, and Ruby gets there too somehow. You all know it\'s something
special.

When that big ol\' catfish first flashes
you could almsot kiss
his prickly lips. Uncle Marchus nets it, Aunt Ruby\'s already talkin
about
frying it up good, and for the first time
in about a year
you\'re not tired you\'re not tired one bit.

Category: English