Barebonin’
by Odin Roark

Stick, String and Safety Pin,
fishin’ hole a 9…

It was a very good year

After school at 14…
Me and my buds makin’ hooks and flies.

An even better year.

I rushed after class,
my job was waitin’.
Independence.
Nickel a hook.

Attachin’ the fly,
wrappin’ the cinch neck,
knottin’ the hold,
gaze held at close attention,
learned barbs have little patience.

Lined up their curvatures,
packaged ‘em neat,
respected their defenses.

“No-gloves-bare-skin-riskin’,
what a gambler in trainin’ does,”
boss man said.
“You got some barebonin’ to learn, boy.”

Learned hookin’ had but one purpose
to fulfill without question;
prepared to arc,
willin’ once,
willin’ twice,
ready for that next chance.


Touch down,
skitter not,
ballet the bob and weave,
hold tight the line,
temp the temptress,
swim the course.

First lessons learned

School completed,
call of the wild next.

Gone the growing-up wrist and finger finesse,
the whip and place,
the K to twelve prep time.

Gotta live!

Cast adrift,
found myself into chasms deep,
monster fish to bait,
darkest hole,
biggest catch.

Hooks in my eyes.

Hooks in my smile.

Hooks in my handshake.

Slips,
rips,
dumb luck later,
harpooned a mermaid,
that made quiet waters rage,
barbed kisses snarled my tether,
dragged me pitilessly deep,
held me tight,
pulled my naive cautions to the bottom,
wouldn’t let go.
tangled, wrapped, addicted me to the dark,
anchorin’ my ignornace to a drownin' end.

Time passed…

Not-so-very-good-years later,
consciousness returned,
its light pierced the fathoms dark,
early teachings breathed again.

Strugglin’ back to the surface,
fishin’ hole wisdom
and fly-hook instructions rose’ to the top
leavin’ behind the mermaid entanglement,
the death threatenin’ rapids
of toss and tumble,
pound and crush
tryin’ to teach the lesson
before endless sufferin’
become the only catch.

Like the boss man said,
“You got some barebonin’ to learn, boy.”

Finally, I had.