To Daddy and the River

We turned the corner together no longer able to see the winding question of the river the palm trees dipping their heads at our departure back into the scrubby piney woods where we belonged No longer privy to the melancholy marvel of the living river no longer able to peel the mist from off the sunken shrimp boat across the creek where I took my target practice with my Zebco and a 2407 paw paw lure where I caught 10 bass in a row on a rainy day last summer with my Daddy running in and out of the porch to check our lines The bass popping at the raindrops thinking they were dragonflies touching the surface pock marked with the summer shower. I looked at Daddy, lying in the back seat of the old station wagon worn out and weak from chemo, and I said Goodbye to them both, to Daddy and the River