Helveticus
Sits on a barstool in his yard
Casting skyward,
No line on the reel
I can see.

“Air Fish,” he proclaims
glancing up.
“I had a dandy glass carp
On at daybreak
Lost him after an hour.
Sometimes smallmouth
Drift in after noon,
When the sky warms.”

I tell him he should try the real thing.
“And risk a skunk?” he counters
incredulously, casting again.

A blue-hair brings us fresh lemonade.
Bodoni, his wife’s maiden name,” he says.
“A match made in type. Begone wench,” he adds,
“We’re at men’s work.”

We sit on manicured Bermuda green
Watching clouds drifting side by side.
“Peaceful,” he says, “here under my river.
The secret in this game is to let them
Hatch in your mind.
Ignore the dinks, wait for the good.”

Mid-afternoon the sky goes blue.
Helveticus mutters, “Lousy break,
but there’s always tomorrow.”

When I leave, he is watching The Weather Channel.