Gator Bait

Gator Bait

                                                 One windless evening the bass started biting
                                                 just before sunset as I glided along
                                                 the bayou in a pirogue with a thrust
                                                 of the paddle here and there for direction.

                                                 I was casting a Pop-R up against the bank
                                                 among the cypress trunks and sinewy stumps
                                                 and overhanging limbs and shrubs and twitching
                                                 and popping the bait until the fish struck.

                                                 To see and hear and feel the violent burst
                                                 of each strike and to set the hook firmly
                                                 in each jaw and each battle kept me out
                                                 until the mosquitoes and the gator came.

                                                 At first a bumpy head at least a foot wide
                                                 and three feet long with big shiny black eyes
                                                 inched toward the pirogue and me as if we
                                                 were just what he had in mind for dinner.

                                                 I dropped my rod and thought I'd better paddle
                                                 fast and hard before Wally got too close
                                                 but Wally sensed panic and to my horror
                                                 I saw the swish of his tail fifteen feet back.

                                                 The gator accelerated smooth and quick
                                                 and locked its gaze upon the very spot
                                                 the paddle broke water to push me away
                                                 until the jaws snapped and cracked it in half.

                                                 I slid away watching as the gator shook
                                                 its monstrous head free of the broken splinter
                                                 and I realized now he'd be coming again
                                                 for me down the bayou with half a paddle.

                                                 The pirogue rocked on the wave Wally made
                                                 during all the commotion and sure enough
                                                 he came again stalking the little boat
                                                 now stalled and adrift so I had to act fast.

                                                 I untied and lifted my stringer of bass
                                                 gasping and wet like a shiny green fleece
                                                 and hefted and hurled it aiming precisely
                                                 at the slashing jaws of the reptilian beast.

                                                 The gator struck at the fish with a splash
                                                 of his big toothy head and chomped down on three
                                                 huge bass and swallowed them whole in one gulp
                                                 then snapped up three more that were still on the string.

                                                 So Wally was happy for now as the sun
                                                 went down and I wondered how to get back
                                                 to the dock half a mile away in the dark
                                                 with Wally nearby and perhaps hungry yet.

                                                 Then I got an idea and picked up my rod
                                                 and cast the old Pop-R past Wally's head
                                                 and chugged it back popping in front of his face
                                                 where soon he attacked it and hooked himself good.

                                                 Wally went down with a jerk and a swirl
                                                 and made such a wave I grabbed the boat rail
                                                 with one hand while holding onto the rod
                                                 which bent almost double as the line stretched tight.

                                                 The pirogue took off like a rocket boat
                                                 as Wally swam up the bayou to flee
                                                 the pressure and drag and the alien hook
                                                 underwater and then on top with me.

                                                 In no time I neared the dock in the dark
                                                 and slackened the line until Wally shook free
                                                 then glided right up to the dock and tied up
                                                 and got out fishless but at least in one piece.


Featured review:

Jack,

Honey, this isn't a poem! You have taken a great adventure short story and placed it in a poetic format but it isn't a poem. A poem usually doesn't have complete sentences. It has rhythmic lines, kind of a sing-song kind of rhythm. I suggest that you rewrite this as a short story. . . .

livelylinda

Rating included: 2.0 stars out of 5.0 stars. (Note: A 3.0 is Average.)

Response to this review:

Hah! I love this review and will treasure it always -- so much that in the spirit of fair use, I will append it to "Gator Bait"  to your ever-enduring credit.

Thanks,
Jack

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