Winslow Homer’s Trout

Once the trout realizes 
that the pain is in his mouth
he might as well be
the man who has discovered
the secret to eternal life 
wants only to speak of it. 

See how he gasps   and 
shapes empty words
		the curve of his spine
		a thumbs up thumbs down
		caudal fin pumping
	             against unworkable air

		his van Gogh scales shimmers
		he twists for position—to dive
	            where he belongs  
				     down   
				       	   please 
					 	down. 
		And all he longs for 
		are the silken tunnels below,
		pools of sunlight in the coveted 
		shallows     
			but, this is after all 
			a good day for fishing
		 			for dragging
						dangling
		 	       			         smothering
						
		on Earth’s scabbed surface.