Thursday, August 14, 2014
weave a worm guaranteed to arrive in the fish's mouth intactunhook the catch without wincing at bloodcast her line with a nearly inaudible whir and a plop
one hundred miles in any direction
(trees even quaked in their roots)
she was pretty good
for a girl
This poem is part of the Tweetspeak Poetry's Gone Fishing: Photoplay and Prompt.
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