Somewhere in the Grains of Long Dead Trees.

Somewhere between grains 

of yesterday's cut trees

on a weather beaten 

fishing pier's old bench, 

stuck like many sparkling 

bits of a shaved pearl

stand scales of a huge t

rout that I can't tout,

because I never 

got it on a scale 

but it left scales f

or me when it got off

my hook as I was 

reeling from the shock,

of watching this 

humongous catch escape.

It banged the bench 

as it slipped free, 

but then

I swear it grinned at me 

and flipped me off,

with two swats of 

it's tail fins and a splash

that soaked my 

clothing tsunami style,

while dreaming of 

pan frying its fresh bulk

and how it would taste 

crisp in buttered bliss.

It jerked too hard 

as I pulled out the hook

and with a joyous 

plunge it swam away,
then circled round 

the dock in victory laps

and warned the other 

hungry fish away,

while I sat catching 

nothing else that day.

So I shot a picture 

of one of it's scales 

so someone would 

believe my fishing tale,

but it chose to splash 

some water on my lens

the instant that I pressed 

the shutter down,

all I took home was 

a picture that was blurred

and laughter when I 

showed them back in town,

where lousy fast food 

was my lunch that day

because my gourmet 

feast had got away.