Poetry: Rhonda Goes Fishing Essay, Research Paper

Poetry: Rhonda Goes Fishing

Uncle Marcus comes rapping on your bedroom door

one Saturday morning.

Says he got a can full of worms

and your cane pole,

just like old times. Unc, what you better have is some coffee! He

flashes a bright red thermos

from behind his back.

Gotcha, girl!

You’re surprised unt Ruby’s in the car. Sick or not, woman love to fish your

uncle says proudly.

In the back of his ol’ Cadillac

you sway to gospel on the radio drinking black coffee like it’s Kool-Aid.

You even get your favorite spot on Ford Lake. Ruby in her lawn chair smoking

steady

watching her bobber like it was her own heart out there

beating in the water. Marcus has got on his ol’ ugly lucky

lucky fishing hat an unlit cigar dangling from his lips

like a fat worm. You’re still fighting sleep

but like the feel of that old cool cane pole

in your hands.

Still, nothin but blue gills

til your bobber

disappears and you feel the hit all the way up your arms.

Marcus bounds over, and Ruby gets there too somehow. You all know it’s something

special.

When that big ol’ catfish first flashes

you could almsot kiss

his prickly lips. Uncle Marchus nets it, Aunt Ruby’s already talkin

about

frying it up good, and for the first time

in about a year

you’re not tired you’re not tired one bit.