"You like to torture fish,"
I told him, cruelly,
As he played home an Elk Creek catfish
Just to brag on his own skill
Before releasing it,
     Live but bleeding,
Back to its home.
"You may catch the same fish
     Every night..."

"Nope, they get wise,"
He nodded,
"Not like people ...
Sometimes I worry.
Still, when it happens,
You know, the Big One,
     I think I'll just walk down here,
     Sit down,
     Relax,
Catch one more catfish
While I'm waiting for the Earth to die."

He almost smiled.
     I didn't
Though I've already picked a hillside tree
For shelter on the day I watch
The sun touch a healthy Earth
One last time
Before the fallout starts to spread.

1984

appeared in the San Fernando Poetry Journal, vol. 6, no. 4, 1984
 
 

Index       Kiera's Mother