Tall Tales

Bud and Joe talk of fishing,

While I hide behind my book


In the physician’s waiting room,

Where you can either bait a hook


And cast your line into

The lake of conversation,


Or stay lost in any story

But of her sickness.


I lower the book and tell

Of how I once snagged a bale


Of hay instead of the big

Bottom-feeding catfish


We all thought I had on my hook

Back in high school, dockside


Sitting cross-legged beside my

Girlfriend’s mom, Marylin Cotton,


A nighttime fisherwoman par excellence,

Who once caught us in bed.


Published in – Delmarva Review.