Lo! Work over for the day,
So a’fishing I have gone,
I put the canoe in at six,
Under a blazing sun.
‘Round towards the dam,
Along the windward bank, towards the lee,
88 Fahrenheit,
Beneath that tranquil sea.
What terrible luck,
'Cause on the horizon what do I see?
But a darkening cloud,
Scudding along toward me.
A few drops at first,
Then a heavy shower,
Do I fish on through,
Or self-preserve and cower?
No hatches to batten,
No respite at hand,
Do I fish on through,
Or make for dry land?
Crash! Bang! Boom! MotherF-ing Doom!
The sky torn asunder,
Can I make it to safety,
Or am I going under?
Jockeying for position
All the boaters scurry,
Pulling their trailers around,
Taking out in a hurry.
Sitting in my car,
For a quarter of an hour,
The arrival of the sun,
Signals an end to the shower.
My hopes dashed,
Nothing copacetic,
Nothing left to do,
But try and be poetic.
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