4thquarterpoems

Gone fishing with Clancy

my grandson. 

He knows what he’s doing,

at the age of ten. 

He scans the surface

for signs of an invisible prize. 

He casts his lure, a young marksman

aiming for reward. 

He sniffs the air

for change on the wind, swats bugs 

on his perfect cheek

and asks

‘Why aren’t you fishing?’

‘I like watching you 

more than catching fishing fish.’

And I think,

I got my invisible prize

a decade ago. 

I have received my reward. 

I can’t smell wind

and nothing is bugging me.