Fishing Deep Among the Reeds
by Michael Escoubas

It is early morning,
best time of the day for a fisherman:
aroma of water drizzling through coffee grounds,
he shakes off night’s restless sleep,
anticipating his day out on the water.

He couples the boat to the truck–
Mercury motor locked in place,
canvas boat cover lashed to the gunwales–
adrenalin rush as the boat glides
down the rails into the glassy lake.

The familiar odor of oil and gas
is incense, something like being in church.
(His own outdoor sanctuary.)
One push on the starter button–
engine roars like a caged lion.

He trolls among the reeds and grasses,
where he knows the lunkers lay basking
deep in late summer’s cool waters.
With a studied angler’s patience,
he drops a frog-jig in among the weeds,

makes it dance with deft hand, imitating life–
suddenly “wham,” the telling snap that bends
his pole into the letter C, his heart beats fast–
angler’s communion: 18-inch bass,
now on ice, his companion going home.



 

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