Challenging Poetry

fish story

the point of it isn’t the fish,
he said, his voice a yawn.
ain’t baited a hook
since the Old Man
stole my rod back in
eighty-seven. took’t
right from my hands, one
spring afternoon, rolled round,
gave me a wink.
he’s a big one, mustache
bigger’n mine, and a mouthful’ve
hooks he stole. given up
on hooks, too. don’t see
a point in them. might catch something,
then th’wife ‘ud carp on me
all evening. make me clean it.
make me eat it, too. don’t like
eating fish. like fishing.
peaceful.
nap.

line count: 20

I've never seen the point in fishing. Not when I don't particularly like to fish. So, I asked one of the voices in my head, and here's the explanation he gave me.