Red-and-white bobber, awaiting a fish
undulating with the most minute of waves
unsyncopated rhythm, delicate gliding
over water – visual mantra of my youth

sitting on the end of grandparents’ dock
red-and-white bobber, awaiting a fish
patience a virtue strange to age nine
unless passing time on a Minnesota lake

there is an adage spoken by grandpas,
grandmas who took no boat back seats
red-and-white bobber, awaiting a fish
‘they call it fishing, not catching’

Those days were simpler, nostalgia isn’t
wistful, therapeutic – everything in between
these were useful skills, meditative still
just a red-and-white bobber, awaiting a fish

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2023
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