Raw red bacon,
wrapped in a string,
tossed into the clear pond
watching, waiting

The brown creature,
shoots backward,
through the water,
as it approaches.

Claws clamp down
on pork belly fat,
the string goes taught,
and I lift him into the air.

Dangling over the canary yellow bucket,
he turns loose and lands with a splash,
reunited with 30 of his kin,
as they make circumference circles.

The crickets sing under willow branches,
and bream patrol the dangling limbs,
waiting for a fat one to fall in,
and become a swimming meal.

The big bullfrog sits and watches
me from the opposite bank,
wary but comfortable now,
he sings his croaking song.

One more crawfish on my bait,
and he falls into my bucket,
I walk through the pasture, home,
where water is already boiling.