Fishing Poems

No Chasers
I was resting on the bank after a day’s fishing.
A guy waded down the river and sat down.
We talked about trout and the day on the river.
We were old guys so the talk got philosophical.
He said time was running out for him and, as
far as he was concerned, they could preserve him
with Montana whisky. I thought that was a good idea,
only if they would add a couple extra double shots for later.

Yellowstone Music
The
high
notes of
the river’s
beginnings
give way to
bright melodies
of its upper reaches
and then to the deep
murmurings of its full flows