Tranquility by Treva Laanan

His fishing vest

with its many pockets

each holds a secret

to lure a fish


a favorite pole

another in the car

this is serious playing

he wants to be prepared


the creel once new

now battered and soiled

holds stories of

fish that it carried


wears high waders

to fish the stream

no banks or boat

for him


gone for hours

comes home at dusk

“good fishing” I ask

his reply,

“there is no

bad fishing.”

Categories: Issue 2 - Spring 2012, Periodicals, Poetry | Tags: | Leave a comment

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