The Low Water Fisherman

In this dark pond of superficiality,

Waters occasionally churned by the collapse

                 of some old tree,

Not far around the bend,

Not far behind the house,

Yet farther than one can see

The old man is dishing at the false bottom.

The escaping bubbles send

No warning. Depth is only a word

Where trees stir the murky waters

Constantly. But the dream fish

Seem to struggle at his bait.



About the Author: New Orleanian poet E.R. Hille (1911-1991) surely thought the world was finished reading his poetry. Poydras wants to assure that never happens.