It Was My Thirteenth Year Poem by Gert Strydom

It was my thirteenth year
and we fished with our friend
from Rhodesia
and he taught us
to make our own sinkers
from lead.

Three boys casting
lines into a dam
and watching the policeman
and when it stirs
or give a small pull
whipping the rod.

At times we used floats
and watched if the red and white
still drift on the water
and it was peaceful
at the dam
with the smooth water
stretching out in front of us.

Crabs crept skew
along the shore
and at times we sailed
a old leaking row boat
and use a big tin
to empty it.

The fishes easily took earthworms
honey or curry dough
and we caught strings
of bream, caper, yellow fish
and catfish.

It’s a great thing
to fry fish on the coals
and there’s something in the smell
that makes you hungry
and we watched the stars
that hanging bright and big in the sky
while we kept on catching
deep into the night.