Caught

Caught

I watched his son, just back from Mosul, catch

A northern pike, clearly a yard in length.

The line was strong. Our net sufficient here.

He landed what he called “that lovely hog,”

Removed the lure and let the tired fish lie

In the bottom of the boat. He whooped it up,

Exultant in victory. I got the stringer. I got the

stringer to lynch the captive up through the gills.

But instead he gently lifted the fish, immersed

And held it level, stroked the slippery tail.

The hog, revived by fluid oxygen

And love, swam quietly and dove. He said

We must release all fish over thirty inches.

And driving home the rough roads to paved,

As in his army days, his preference

For lake and woods was manifest. At home

From war, the enemy could be released.