the two pound fish

he put

up such a fight, the man says,

wiping

his brow,

removing his hat full of fishing

flies,

and hooks,

assorted weights.

his face is red

with sunlight,

nearly out of breath,

he shows

me the two pound fish

in the cooler

resting on ice,

ready

to be taken

home to his cutting board

and knife.

how much do you weigh?

i ask him,

two twenty, two twenty-five?

give or take he says.

depending on lunch.

weightlifter at gym,

aren't you?

yes, how did you know,

he says,

flexing his biceps.

i see, i see,

and that

little fish, this little fellow

who fought so hard

for his life,

with a hook in his mouth,

he's the one that put up

such a fight?