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The Catch
Hook, reel in, gaff and bludgeon;
no need to hurry it’s only a fish,
but I wonder
does that little brain
in that big head, think?
Does it know this gagging sky
as its gills
franticly suck in an invisible death,
does it acknowledge
the burning rays of the sun
as it scorches its glittering scales?
Does this still wriggling fish
discern or calculate
the amount of drowning air
it can withstand
as it is hauled into a choking death?
Can I afford
to think upon it, empathize.
Consider that we once
came out of the water,
should I measure my own pain
the way this fish might
while I fish for an excuse
and indefinitely, and with much pleasure
cast another line?
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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