Fall 2010, Volume 9

Poetry by Sid Hoskins

The Fish

        (With respects to Elizabeth Bishop and her famous poem.)

I’ve just been spending my life
A-swimmin’ around in this here lake
High up in these famous mountains
Around Yosemite.

Ain’t seen too many fishermen come by.
First place, it’s too hard to climb
Up to this place from down below.
Second place, not too many folks
Have enough stamina to do it.

Well, I was really surprised one day last week
When I saw this obviously old guy
With white hair and a mustache,
Come tromping around my lake.
He stopped right near my favorite spot
And began to undo his fishing gear.
My God, you’d think the guy
Was going to catch everything
On this mountain..

But finally, he ends up with a pole and reel
In his hands and I want to tell you,
He musta been a real beginner.
He winds up like a pitcher
And hurls his bait and hook right at me.

Well, you who know me well,
Know that I’m not a beginner at this stuff.
When the baited hook hit the water,
I watched it drop toward me and
I just nibbled a corner off the worm.
Tasted good too.

But there he was again,
A hurling his line right at me as
If he could make me out in the water.
I am beautiful, rainbow colors,
So there may have been
Some inducement there
To catch such a glamorous trout.

So I got a little nosy and began
To nibble the rest of the worm.
Like an ass, I got too close
And the hook stuck in my mouth.
I don’t know how many of you
Have been caught on a hook,
But it’s no friggin' great experience.
I got roughed up pretty bad, mud all over my body.
Out of the pond I came,
Filthy dirty and very unappealing
To the eye, I think.
                                                       
Well this yokel cut me free.
I could see the one cell in his brain working.
“I’’ll just go down to the lake and
Wash off the mud from my catch.”
So, the guy takes me in his hands
And he walks slowly to the lake.
I figure I’ve got about 4 minutes left
Before I run out of air,
So he better hurry.

He holds me in his two hands
And drops down on his knees,
Then holds me tightly as he dips me
Into the water to wash me off.
That’s when I make a break for it
And with a wham bam,
No thank you, sir
I’m outa there.

I give it the old slippery slide
And my body responds.
No one can catch me now,
Except that crazy-eyed blonde salmon
Who swims by me everyday with
Her tail dragging.

As it is, all I’ve got is a fat
Lip from the barb he used,’
I do wish he had told me where
He found that worm, though.
It was tasty and I’d like another.

 

BIO: Sid Hoskins is 83 years of age and still produces poetry. He spent thirty-four years with the Los Angeles Unified School District and was a principal when he retired in 1984. He began his writing career at the age of fifty-seven. He has published over sixty articles and short stories as well as two novels. The first is titled How I Covered Sam Bass and the second is There Really was an Elfego Baca. The Baca book is available from www.virtualtales.com and is a Western.