[April 2, 2002]
greets me, How ya doin', big boy?
Not a question, but a crutch.
We float through Alligator Alley
Clogged with sweepers and streamer-eaters.
He casts with boundless energy,
Likens it to ranch work, ya know?
Choppin' wood, messin' with the horses.
When we stop for lunch at Shoe Island
He asks, "Whats the grub, Big Fella?"
Something red, he adds with naked hope.
Orange chicken Tangine,
With couscous - like grits.
He smiles at this and I tell him
There are oil wells less than forty minutes
North and he grins crookedly,
Says,"Dang I could feel 'em in my boot heels."
When he hooks a fish,
he says Lordy.
I try to teach him to pulse his rod left
But he allows he cain't overcome a default
To the Right.
At day's end he says, Thank Ya, pard.
I tell him I have a name.
He grins sheepishly,
casts his eyes down.
I'm not so hot with names,
Ya boat -rowin' galoot."