Sunday, April 22, 2007

NaPoWriMo 20: Fishing Hole


When we were young it
was a place to go hunting
eels. Spike hook with
bloody meat, tug and haul.
The vanquished beasts would
tie themselves in knots and
try to crawl back to the
stream and it was left to our
poor father to grab an axe
and dispatch the poor creatures.

Poor Dad as well, it transpired he
had a mortal fear of eels. Lucky
for him we discovered it was far more
fun to stuff Mum's pantihose with
bread, rotten eggs, cooking oil and
dangle them in the water.
Dark shapes would emerge from
holes tunneled deep into the bank and
lured by the heady odour would
flow gracefully over river stones
and algae to sink small sharp teeth
into nylon. Oh the thrill and the
beauty of those creatures we once
clubbed with such repulsion. We
grew to feel ashamed of our past selves.

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