Clear-aquamarine water waves lap the beach
making small gurgling noises,
out in what should be the surf are
barely noticeable two-inch tall rolling waves,
there is no foam to be seen.

Bits of seaweed float in clumps here and there,
gulls work, a hundred yards out, diving and loudly laughing;
I am armed with khaki wading shorts and a coral Columbia shirt
along with a green Tilley hat and blue mirrored Costas,
a St. Croix rod and a Shimano reel.

Shuffle and slide my feet as I wade out chest deep,
the water's cool battles the early June sun,
at my left chest, a poking and jabbing feeling,
a shrimp spine, in my pocketful of live bait,
the smell of a meal, if the fish refuse to bite them.

The hook slides through the shrimps head
as it squirms in my hand, now ready,
I reach back and cast my lead weight,
taking the baited hook directly in the water
underneath the gathering cloud of birds.

I feel the bump as the lead hits bottom,
immediately a thump, thump, and a ****,
counting mentally three seconds pass,
I reel down and set the hook,
it bites in as the battle begins.

Leaping out of the water, fighting my attempts
at keeping it down, a large silver and spotted
sea trout pulls drag briefly before I get it turned,
I begin to back up into shallower water,
as I pull the fish towards me.

Ten feet away now, the fish makes a final jump,
as a huge swirl underneath it reveals a fin,
the heaviness on my line increases then reduces by half,
I continue to reel in my prize or what is left of it.
just the trouts head, vampire teeth shining in the sun.

Annoyed and with jitters, I re-bait and cast out
aware that a 6-foot bull shark roams these waters;
studying, I see a dark shadow heading back out
towards the splashing fish, and diving birds.
I patiently wait on another bite.