Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Pinks are running

blood and guts
It takes a few good whacks on the noggin to stun them, flopping and gasping on the rutty concrete. dozens of splotches of blood, where each one met their end.


One fish had a death wish, kept getting hooked in the ribs, pierced in the side, unhooked,then kicked back to the duwamish, until a cajun finally knocked it silly then cut into its gills, like a matador finishing. His luck has been ok, he shrugged. overalls and straw hats, backward baseball caps and jean shorts, balancing on the rail like an acrobat, or clambering over greenish boulders with rods, like one handed otters.

No comments:

Post a Comment