the ten hour summer day

it was a long

walk

to the river. we had our fishing

poles,

our small box

of worms.

a jug of water

and all the time in the world

before the sun

went down.

we crossed the highway,

through

the parking lot

of Eastover shopping center

then into

the woods,

finding the path that led

to river beneath

the Woodrow Wilson Bridge.

there was no shade

and the water was too dirty

to swim in.

it was 1968,

and the Blue Plains Treatment

plant was

nearby.

the sewage killed most

of the fish.

but sometimes we'd land

a carp

or a catfish, or a long black

eel which we'd

cut off with out pocket

knives.

eventually, we'd have our

fill and head

home.

saying nothing to our parents

about where we

were, or

what we had done with

the summer day, now gone.