the small fish

it's just a small
fish
lock jawed
and stiff lipped
on the steel
hook.
his flat eyes
unblinking in sunlight.
his skin glittering
with false gold.
your son reels
it in with measured
glee.
it's small he says,
feeling sorry
for the fish,
being gentle as he
pulls into
the harsh air
where it struggles
to breathe.
throw him back, he
says, quick, before he
dies.
this ends
the fishing part
of his childhood,
which makes
you happy.