I walk half a mile to get to the secret spot, The midday sun burns like fire, My bucket with shiners splashing as they fight to escape. I approach the water, rough like sandpaper, I drop my bag and set up my rod, Hoping I can catch my biggest fish yet. I put bait on my hook, I look in the water and see a big snook. Open the bail, I hear a click, I swing the rod back and I hear the wind say swoosh, Swing forth and let the line go. The line starts to empty, but lands in the water. I hear a splash, the hook sinks, The fish swam as if it had never eaten before. Eyes locked on my bait, All I can do is wait. I hope it bites. I see it open its mouth, teeth like razors, It swallows my fish in one whole bite. It realizes it’s hooked, it knows it needs to run, It swings its fins as fast as motors, It tugs on my line, I think to myself, this fish is mine. I tug and I pull and it starts to come closer, I realize this fight is almost over. I see it jump out of the water like a submarine, I tug hard and it comes closer to me, It’s now hanging under my rod. It shakes like an airplane in a cloud, I set it down on a mound. I take the hook out of its mouth and pick it up, I take a picture and put it in my book. I take it home and show my family what I caught, This was the dinner, better than anything the store bought. Ode to Fishing by Jackson Mirabito ’30 3
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