Midnight, stars twinkle
mosquitos buzz
the sound of flowing water
an occasional splash

A bull frog croaks out a beat
and the tree frogs sing harmony
the owl lead sings from the trees
and the cicada sings backup

My black light illuminates
the night purple
as flying insects glow
as does the crawling scorpion

Monofilament fishing line
creates purple lines
running into the water
like lasers fired

Watching and waiting
on the riverbank
for the line to quiver
and the rod to bend

Night crawlers squirm
in their styrofoam bowl
waiting their turn
to search for catfish

Dogfish bait and a late teasing wind
slacks the line, the one binding
monofilament of time
and lost momentum
sagged from a raft adrift -
waiting -
and never enough
to sum the formulae,
the vagaries,
vicissitudes,
uncoiling from the reel
set with loose drag.

A stag in the sea still drowns,
still thrashes until the rack
goes down
one
last
time
one
last
breath
before the flounder is spitting
hair and bone
and the titanic hulk
becomes the soft stuff
of mollusks.

O, crawler of the night, I pray
That thou doth not resent this day.
Grudge me not that I must take
A hook to make thy belly ache.

But in this murky pond, methinks..
And as thou on an egg weight sinks,
That swimming knight in plated mail
Might be inclined to munch thy tail.

And thus be caught, yet try to sprint
From straining monofilament.
But I, Oh I, the water's lord
Shall see knight lay on cutting board.

Forgive me, friend, for this, my vice.
I'll not let fade thy sacrifice.
In verse I'll speak thy final plight..
My supper's final meal tonight.

© Nathan A. Brock