A Little Advice, Fishing's For Fools Poem by Juan Olivarez

You get out of your bed, at three in the morn,
Sleep still clinging to your eyes.
Leaving your nice warm womb, like a newborn,
To fight the snakes and flies.

You drive for an hour, to get to your spot,
Freezing your fool behind.
To give those damned fish, just one more shot,
Your'e a fishing fool, one of a kind.

Then you sit on the bank, waiting for a bite,
Slapping mosquitoes all day.
Drinking beer till your'e higher than a kite,
And the fish just don't want to play.

At the end of the day, your'e haggard and worn,
Your hair going every which way.
You've lost all your hooks, and your pants are torn,
Your tackle box in complete disarray.

You eyes red and sore, Your skin is sunburned,
You just want to go home and die.
It's the same old lesson, you've never learned,
It makes a grown man want to cry.

Yet you'll never confess, lord perish that thought,
That those fish did you in one more day.
Heaven forbid, just say that you fought,
And lie, say they just got away.

7/2/11 Alton Texas