Your tale about the bullhead awakened me.
I stood on the seawall and set a weight on my line.
I thought about you out on the water alone fishing
Your quiet spot on Mullet Creek.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the brine,
The warm bait, and pepper plants as you
Rocked with the rhythm of ripples slapping
The barnacle coated bulkhead. The oarlocks
Snapped and resonated in your slow sway.

I watched your steady hands grip both the croaking
Fish and pitted pliers and quickly pull the hook free
As his spiny dorsal fin caught your knuckle.
You uttered a sharp ****** and placed the ****** finger
In your mouth.