BIG FISH

Trophy
. . . after a painting by Kathleen A. Fox

big fish, big sky, big guy
it's like Pamplona Port Clyde ocean
you know who's going to win in the end
still, he put up a good fight

where else was mirrored in your shades,
reflecting other kills? Maui, Cabo, somewhere
fuzzy after three nights in Miami, somewhere
outside Kabul
too bad there was no fishing in Iraq

there was even fishing on the honeymoon
it all started on a Maine lake
he still has the baseball cap
they used to call him Fish Lips
he almost drowned at 17

out there, out on the water, out on the blue
deep breast of the sea, out where the clouds
shine the water the very color of light, changing
light, changing so fast you can never
capture it, can't describe it, can't
even remember it right — everything
else goes away

but then, sudden as a shot,
the bait works, then the sinking the hook into her,
then the last breath, the last rise and fall
gills gaping and grasping.

good eating tonight
going out again
tomorrow.
Sherry Barker Abaldo