On the finger-lakes
with fiberglass
and thigh-high
sunburns
as a boy
Big-mouths below
big as a cinder-block
No flies
white worms
simple and clean
five feet down
The Ultralight shrieks
bows and wobbles
bobbing to
the struggle
And what a fight!
Yield when he pulled
pulling when he slacked
The midday sun
and the yearning
breath of the North
calling
coaxing
“Bring him in,
get that gold!”









