Fishing for Bass

My sneakers go well with my long legsand my jeans from the thrift store.I ride shotgun, not minding the gravel as it bounces us around
to Indian Channel where we put the boat in.

I hold the ropes. You step around to nobly offer
a hand, which I bypass and step to the grey and white carpet of the boat.

I dip a delicate hand into the waters –it is warm, good for fish. As we speed to the bayou
I am flying, imagining Viking ships
and roaming cruise liners alike.
I would wear heels and a satin dress, empress waistline and a slit from the calve to the hip.
I think the color would be bright blue
as the waters over which we glide.

We settle near the lily pads to fish for bass.
You are an expert; I, your apprentice.
I have not caught one thing. But you untangle my lines,
teach me to thread the worm onto the hook
and cast, and I know that I am loved

because you brought me here.