AFTERNOON FISHING
by David Dunham

I'm sittin' here, near half asleep
Attached, it seems, to this here creek.
Half hoping that a fish will bite
But if it don't, well, that's all right.
The sun is shining down on me
And through my half-closed eyes
I see my bobber floating in the lint
the summer cottonwood has spent.
There are no sounds here to be heard
'cept an occasional singing bird.
No guns, no bombs, no threats to peace.
No news out here of Middle East.
Just lying here in slumber land;
my fish pole barely in my hands.
If I should die before I wake
I pray that fish don't take my bait.
Now as the sun wanes in the West
I should get me home, I guess.
With pole across my shoulder blade
I traipse across the darkening glade.
Content with what I did today;
Sometimes you have to stop and play.
When I can't bear this world we're in,
I'll come out here and fish again.