I remember turtle fishing with my grandfather
when I was a kid. We went around the lake in his boat,
checking the huge and fearsome hooks he used.

He pulled one up with the bait gone, the hook bent almost straight.
Later on, that very hot, Midwest summer day, he couldn’t seem to understand
why my brother and I didn’t want to go swimming there.

I recall thinking it best to let my imagination keep me safe
from the horrible jaws that no doubt lurked there,
just underneath the deep blue surface of that awful lake.

I assumed the creature that deformed that barbed hook
might be diligently looking for the son of a bitch
who likely gave it a sore mouth for such a small treat!