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The Pond You caught trout in the pond with your mother Your face still smarting from the slap she dealt You - backhand - real casual like you deserved it As you were picking up the phone to call him back. You pick up your pole and dangle the hook in the Dank water - still silent backwater that goes nowhere And smells of it too and you know no matter what You catch you won’t be able to eat it for dinner Or even for the breakfast after that. |
Additional Notes:
Previously published in The Adirondack Review
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