black eels

as a kid you used to pull
the slimy whip like
eels out of the Potomac
river at the end of your
fishing line. how strong
they were, bending the pole.
stretching the filament
to the point of breaking.
a lean muscle of dark
black struggling to return
to the muddy bottom.
you were hoping for perch,
or a rockfish, carp,
or even a catfish,
with whiskers, soft
and without scales.
a ring of teeth in it's
clutching mouth.
even that would be better
than an eel. there was
nothing else you could
do, but cut the line
and start again. what
lies beneath is not always
what you want.