How it Goes
My wife complains our raft is leaking
and she has ice water up her butt.
“Small price to hook a steelhead,” I say.
Next, my felt hat floats by
then our cooler, and I turn to see
my old Fenwick broke and stuck in sand
like antennas of old TVs
or giant underground bugs.
“Our wedding vows were for ‘Better
or worse, for summer and winter
steelhead, spring and fall chinook,
and the trouts’” I
offer
but red in her blue eyes says I’d better run.
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