FISH/FISHERMAN by Louis Jenkins
The fish are either off or on. Day after
day there are no fish, only wind and
waves, and seagulls waiting patiently.
Then the fish are on. They come from
nowhere, suddenly alive and turning and
flashing in unison, uncles, cousins,
daughters. All fish are one fish but
their combined intelligence cannot outwit
a gill net. Then the fish are off and lie
in the bottom of the boat with x's for
eyes.
After I've cleaned the fish and sold most
of the day's catch, I bring a few home
for supper. I always put one fish out on
the stump beside the shed. In the morning
the fish is gone. I don't know what takes
it, if it's a weasel or a raccoon or a
bear or a crow. I don't watch, or try to
track whatever it is. I put the fish out
in the evening, and in the morning it's
gone.