It was ten in the evening,
on March thirty first,
my equipment uninspected,
I dreaded the worst.
Imagining rotted line, rusty swivels,
and old dead bait,
I knew when I hit the sack,
it would be very late.
It took time to feed the kids, hug them,
and put them to bed,
fix the washer, gas the car, and – – oh yes,
the dogs had to be fed.
Call the old folks, say hello, and – –
my neighbor wanted to talk,
find my license, cap and coat, and – –
take the wife for a walk.
But when that was all done, and – –
I had time for myself,
I retrieved the pole and waders,
from the top of the shelf.
And talk about dumb luck,
not a thing was awry,
except that the tip of the rod,
was missing an eye.
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