Fishing with Doug
I am learning late in life to fish and am enchanted by all of the accoutrements.
Sorting through an old tackle box aquired when someone else was
cleaning out their ” junk”,
there was a carefully laminated fishing license –
first name only in a sprawling hand.
A quick glance at dates told me he was forever a child-
A few questions told me he was gone.
Were he my brother every sinker,
glittery crawdad and hook would have been saved.
I’ll take him with me each trip.
2 thoughts on "Fishing with Doug"
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tackle boxes,,,,personal, magical…. you captured it all in this poem, Tania ✨
Thank you Amy. This LexPoMo has been a struggle.