Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


CreationEarth Nature Photos


Bobber

 On the Columbia River near Vantage, 
Washington, we fished for whitefish 
in the winter months; my dad, Swede- 
Mr.
Lindgren-and me.
They used belly-reels, pencil-length sinkers, red, yellow, or brown flies baited with maggots.
They wanted distance and went clear out there to the edge of the riffle.
I fished near shore with a quill bobber and a cane pole.
My dad kept his maggots alive and warm under his lower lip.
Mr.
Lindgren didn't drink.
I liked him better than my dad for a time.
He lets me steer his car, teased me about my name "Junior," and said one day I'd grow into a fine man, remember all this, and fish with my own son.
But my dad was right.
I mean he kept silent and looked into the river, worked his tongue, like a thought, behind the bait.

by Raymond Carver
Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem - BobberEmail Poem |
Comment below this ad.

Top Raymond Carver Poems

Analysis and Comments on Bobber

Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Bobber here.

Commenting has been disabled for now.