Tammy Armstrong Poet Narrative

The Big Fish

The acrylic line pulled taught as he bit down.
The lake was so still as to mimic a black oil slick -
She suddenly breaks away and churns like an overcooked pot -
Ripples glide along the boats surface
As he grabs the rod.

Closure burns hot in his mind as his weathered hands grip the reel.
The tug of the monster that lurks beneath the boat  -
makes his cameo appearance in the murky underbelly - 
Thudding against the bottom of the old boat
As the crickets sing.

His mind randomly jumps back to a memory.
He remembered his father’s old tackle box -
Remembering the pity he had on the writhing worm - 
And the sickening feeling as dad hooked him
And cast his line.

His wife knew he was out here and disapproved.
Even though she didn’t even say a word but turned over -
She avoided saying a word while he pulled the rubber waders
Over his plaid pyjama bottoms 
And quietly closed the door.

This was surely the biggest Bass on this cursed lake.
Confidence oozed from his knarled fingers as the catch came closer -
Finally he’d prove the old bat wrong and defy his lodge buddies -
No more mocking and no more duelling with the woman
He sighs with relief.

The rod bent under the heavy weight of the bass’s fight.
But he was determined to prove his wife wrong -
The lake was alive with excitement as if the trees themselves
Were watching every second leading up to the arrival
When the line broke.

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