after Merrill Moore
With ostrich herl, the angler carefully winds
six feather-frothy river-running lures,
giving each two prominent wide-set eyes
made of glass beads, a hidden steel-hook tail,
tiny paddling feet of narrow-gauge wire.
Thus equipped, he says with confidence, he never fails
to bag his limit. Oh sure, he could get by
doing less, but his respect for the sport requires
this extra effort, the expert touch that supplies
finger-tip finish to store-purchased line and reel.
And it sits right with him, knowing what he serves
to guests at his table: a trout that had a choice
when it hit the bait. He imagines the freedom it will feel;
its life will end while catching its last, best meal.