s u m m e r
what a little boy knows
I'd let the cork sit in the water so long I was seeing double and the sun was beginning to glare off the ripples on the lake. The red and white plastic cork bobbed up and down, hardly a bite in a half an hour. I knew I should've pulled in the line, bent the bamboo pole over and put on new bait. I knew that down there in the cold water there was only a rusty hook from my grandfather's tackle box. I knew the worm was gone. The soil in the Styrofoam cup next to me moved and I could tell I had a few worms left. The sun was going down and the water felt chilly but good as it lapped around my ankles.
I knew that just through the woods my grandfather was putting coals in the grill, if he hadn't lit it already. I knew in a couple hours my stomach would be full with crappy from the lake and the grass would be damp and I'd watch the dull glow of the television inside the house from the floating dock as I whittled and talked with my grandfather.
The bugs would be out and they'd fly around the yellow light by the low cinder block wall. The light nailed into the Dutch elm. An old kitchen fixture with a yellow bulb inside. I'd smell like bug spray but it wouldn't work and I'd still scratch at bites for days, welts the size of tack heads on my legs.
I'd whittle with my dirty knife at a soft poplar branch, trying to make toothpicks. I'd shave it so small and thin there'd be nothing left. Bits of dried worm would make the night air smell earthy and I'd taste them when I bit my fingernails. A mixture of Ivory bath soap from before dinner washing and dirt from not scrubbing under my nails.
My grandfather would be quiet after awhile, chewing tobacco and spitting into the looking glass water.
goodnight 4.27.99