“The One That Got Away”
What, my friend, you think it large,
This fish upon my wall?
Hear the tale of how I caught it;
Then you’ll think it small.
The evening light was growing dim
And dusk made shadows gray;
I grumbled as I changed my bait--
No fish had bit all day.
A closing cast, and then I’d quit,
No use prolonging pain;
I hunted for the perfect spot
To make a piscis plain.
A pool painted cobalt blue
And fringed with willow fronds,
Drew my eye and drew my line;
I cast into that pond.
I felt a nibble in my hands,
The rod-tip bobbed its head,
A spray of droplets burst the pool,
And rings of ripples spread.
The monster raised his ruddy side
Above the watery screen;
He far surpassed the size of any
Fish I’d ever seen.
From snout to tail I swear he matched
A pickup truck in length;
He would have whomped an elephant
In brutal, battling strength.
He stripped my reel clean of line,
Then hurtled back so fast
The water whistled ‘round him like
A locomotive’s blast.
I fought that fish from sunset’s start
Throughout the grappling night;
Morning dawned with sparkling sun,
But still no end in sight.
At last the fish swam close to shore
And looked me in the eye.
He spat the sinker, hook, and lake
Ten meters through the sky.
The spume came splattering down my shirt
And something struck my vest:
Another fish had flown to me
And found its final rest.
This fish I hung upon my wall--
Compensatory prey,
A smallish souvenir to mark
The one that got away.
