Of fish and fortune.

[Luke McLeod]

for the chatroom crowd

Of Fish and Fortune
I stand here Friday Thanksgiving past
In frigid water up to my a**
Flailing line I try to cast
Like fanning fire with blades of grass.
When to my eyes a sight does come
Of slurping trout upon the run
I draw my line backcast to rear
Then forcefully I hook my ear
With barb smashed down and blood on collar
I pull the hook and give a holler
When finally I cast again
Mine line is knotted by the wind
All day the battle rages on
Until the fish are finally gone
Back to their homes and I to mine
On potted pork tonight I dine
With broken leaders and flies in trees
I shed the trappings of my disease
Sit down to chat with men who tie
Of fish and fortune for to lie