Animal Poem

Poem About Fishing With Dad

A girl shares an experience of fishing with her dad.

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Published: February 2006

Dad and I used to catch worms the
evening before we went fishing,
we stalked slowly about the yard
with a flashlight and an
ice cream pail filled with dirt
and watched the grass for the
pink flesh of the juicy night crawlers.

I remember the first one I caught,
its body curled around my fingers
like a phone cord,
and I marveled at the ridges of its skin
how its body's fragile plumpness felt
when it tried to get away before
I released it into the pail.

(Later, I learned that Aristotle called
them the 'intestines of the earth,'
they could digest their own body weight
in soil every 24 hours, and are among
the most defenseless,
yet successful of creatures.)

When we baited our lines,
I admired their strength
as they struggled against the
fate they could not know,
wondering if God would be mad
if we didn't catch any fish.



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