A Place to Call Home!”
Come April, when the flow slows down,
politely arrogant anglers show up here
waving their thousand-dollar fly-rod wands
and sowing their money like wild oats.
They stay at the resort five miles from town
that billionaire from California built.
Come November, he flies off to Mexico,
then shows up here in March with the vultures.
Jack at the tackle shop says he heard a guy
boast how he don’t eat trout, don’t like the taste,
claims he’s all about catch-and-release, more
sporting he says. My mama used to say you
clean what you catch and you eat what you clean.
I don’t fish much anymore. Too crowded.
Now that I’m retired, I find worlds of time
to gripe, but the mayor likes to remind us to
“smile, it’s good for business.” We roll our eyes
and watch the river go by. And besides,
my boy guides fishing trips and Katie waits
tables up at the resort and makes good tips.
Every day I complain and grin. And complain.