My wife and I have been at it
for hours and still no bite.
I want to tell her
that the bait slipped,
that I really hate fishing
where I can’t see.
But she wants me to tell her
my theory again,
the one about men just being
fish lured by big water—
that they know a hook
when they see one.
It’s more of a story really.
Something all men share
at some point in the drink.
Men swim slower
when there’s no sun
to charm them blind,
no machines to churn
the lots behind them,
no iron pipes to crush
them into the concrete
before a daughter’s first birthday.
But the truth is, it’s bullshit.
Men tend to toss
a lazy cast because it’s easy
to forget that a hook is brutal
for a reason. And fish, as dumb
as they are in their approach,
rarely make that mistake twice.
Tomorrow night, we’ll try again.
