Deception

Because he fished
in mountain stream
with tied fly
he’ll never bait
worm to barbed hook
won’t mess
with shallow topsoil
and grubbing.

“Naw,” he says,
“It’s like camping out
in your backyard.“

I drop worm
and sit maybe
bump it on the bottom.

He casts setting
dry fly on calm water:
the back cast
and the set.

But today it is
my fish small perch
we’ll bring home
fry in flour and egg
give him shit—
his split cane
and frigging oiled line.

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