Daily Fly Fishing Poem installment for September 4, 2010.
Poem #4: Before I Was a Fly Fisher
I fished for smallmouth on the Ohio River,
at the base of the Dashields Dam.
Where logs the size of telephone poles
got sucked under in the hydraulic,
and then shot up like rockets, and then under again.
Where at least two people drowned,
and probably more than that.
Where I used to go with my father and brother.
And sometimes we fished at Cross Creek Lake,
where we caught green sunfish,
and red-ear sunfish, and filleted them,
and breaded them with Fry Magic.
They were so delicious; like summer, like salt
and corn meal, like nothing you could buy,
That was before I was a fly fisher.