(This came to me last night. It should have been included in the poem I posted last night called “Late-Night Poem.” But here it is. I’ll put bothparts together and repost the whole thing later.)
He knew this one was a big one
The line stripped off the reel so fast
And carried across the river
“You better be careful with this one.”
He gave the fish slack
And, trembling with excitment and awe
Waited
He thought that the fish would never start again
And knew that he had missed his chance
That his hook was lying, cleaned
At the bottom of the river
But still he held and waited
His arms ached from holding the pole without moving
Till the fish moved again and the boy’s heart pounded
The fish went deep and the boy’s rod bent double
“Don’t pull too hard. That thing’ll snap that line.”
He lowered the rod a bit and stayed there
Waiting, again, for the fish to move
But he did not move
And the boy pulled on the rod to test the fish
And the fish did not move and was so fixed
That the boy was convinced that his line was now snagged on a rock or root
But then the fish took off again, straightaway from the boy
And the line snapped and whipped out of the water
And curled in the night air toward the boy.
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