He had his Father’s Fishing License
That summer of smashing dandelions with a stick,
out where the tidal creek dipped, our nets, lines
rod and reel still before the brackish, we invent
something Rob called a clonker. Inventions and
out-at-sea things were what made him a stickler
when it came to fishing. His knack for one-liners
rolled like mackeral shoal to whitebait; darkening lines
for such feathering weights. But “love is an invention
between dying things” must’ve had reason to stick.
We sat there jigging in the pass of the day’s topics –
religion, art, politics – no catch for his mainline’s
cast, as if, at last, living beyond our own inventions.