From his Seniors room
window an aged man smiles
remembers being
a kid of twelve, stepping
over limbs beside the creek
blue eyes bright and
inquiring, still that eager boy
under wrinkles of flesh
speckled trout, sweet smell
of summer calling--
twitch in his willow pole,
clunker of a catch
mouthing the dew worm
ma noticing well-traveled jeans,
need washin' often said
mud-caked from sunny
days fishing Ogden’s Creek.
Memories, never shy away.
© Richard L. Provencher
