anyone know anything about Ken Hada? I’ll be frank: just too damn lazy
to look it up this morning. However, as the weather gets colder (not
much colder here in the dirty south) and the days get shorter, I
present an appropriate poem by this guy, which I read last week. It’s
good for people who like fishing. I’m not sure about the “turn” in
this poem, which brings with it our good friend the pathetic fallacy,
but otherwise I like it. Best line: a good tiredness claims us.” -ed.
After three days of hard fishing
we lean against the truck
untying boots, removing waders.
We change in silence still feeling
the rhythm of cold water lapping
thankful for that last shoal of rainbows
to sooth the disappointment
of missing a trophy brown.
We’ll take with us the communion
of rod and line and bead-head nymphs
sore shoulders and wrinkled feet.
A good tiredness claims us
from slipping over rocks, pushing rapids –
sunup to sundown – sneaking
toward a target, eyes squinting
casting into winter wind.
We case the rods, load our bags
and start to think about dinner.
None of us wants to leave.
None wants to say goodbye.
Winter shadows touch the river cane.
The cold is coming. We look up
into a cobalt sky, and there,
as if an emissary on assignment,
a Bald Eagle floats overhead
close enough to bless us
then swiftly banks sunward
and is gone.