The man saw the line in a poem:
“When fish are fools,” and
he thought that in his
experience he had never seen
a foolish fish.
He can’t remember the poem
and his wish
is that he could look it up
to read the reason the poet
had opined about when fish are
fools. Not even his son,
who catches four fish
to the man’s one,
thinks fish are fools,
especially Colorado fish,
where he gets to fish
his every wish.
His son is quite wise
and a wise
person wouldn’t wish
to spend time with fools
let alone foolish fish
and he spends every
free moment with
sly, smart, sneaky fish —
in rivers, ponds, lakes
and creeks —
full of fish any fish lover
would love to catch
and release.
And then he got it.
“The fish is a fool
when my son casts
a home-made fly
into the pool,
which the fish would spy
out the corner of its eye.
Even a riffle smart brookie,
who has fooled people
near and far
is not a trout
but an Artic Gar
and
becomes a rookie
before the magic
of my son’s cast
and that’s when a
fish is a fool.”
Then the man wondered,
does that poet know
my son?