disappearing act
it’s food day
so I call in sick and grab
my rod & reel
walk the five point five miles
to the trout stream
in my pockets
I carry [among other things]
single-serving packets
of mayonnaise & pickle relish
—a couple of hot dog buns
and a swiss army knife
in the tackle box
I have fake worms
and a fake license
red & white bobbers
rainbow spinners & a blue stringer
[among many other things]
at work it’s nearly breaktime
—suddenly one of the bobbers
disappears below the surface
october two thousand twenty-three
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