A strangled cry escapes the fisherman
As he tries to sleep through the night.
His every dream is haunted
With memories of that very last fish caught. . . .
All day he'd bobbed his pole playfully,
Teasing his finned friends under the glassy waters.
He'd reel each one in and eat them,
On the spot,
With an appraising mouth and a hungry eye.
He'd cackle heartlessly,
Caress them lovingly,
Kiss them gently,
All the while avowing his adoration.
But the day finally waned into early evening,
And Mr. Fisherman knew he'd soon pull in his last.
With pole paused high in the air, almost fearful,
He dreaded the conclusion of his fishy affair.
. . . .He bolts up in bed,
His strangled cry a reality.
He bemoans the fact that it's he who's truly been caught.