The Plumlee Mr. Bruce Poem by Laurence Overmire

A group of thirty, nine and ten-year-old eager lads
Filed out of the peeling pearly white bus
Muscle-bound counselors herding them into line
Distributing the equipment for the day's recreational outing.

But funds were short so some poor boys were
Disadvantaged at the start
Unable to join the fun
The Plumlee Mr. Bruce was one
Tall, lanky greasy-haired goof
Cried with apprehension:
'Hey! I ain't got no fishin' rod! '

We sat on the bank, he and I both lost
Both pitifully deprived
And watched while others reeled in the catch
Laughing and whistling and hooting it up!
But The Bruce was miffed as miffed could be
Cried out again in disbelief:
'Hey! I ain't got no fishin' rod! '

I, dejected, resigned myself to my bitter lot
The hot sun scorching my miserable bones
Bored, I picked the grass and cursed my fate
But The Plumlee Mr. Bruce would not allow injustice to prevail
Stomping and screaming at the top of his lungs:
'Hey! I ain't got no fishin' rod! '

I rolled over, went to sleep and heard no more
'Till the bus revved up again
And waking saw The Bruce with pole in hand
A three-foot Muskie on the hook
A smile as big as Cleveland
It was too late for me but nonetheless
I think I learned my lesson
And striding towards the counselor's hefty back
Tapped him on the shoulder and shrieked:
'Hey! I ain't got no fishin' rod! '


(Previously published in Kookamonga Square, Feb 2003)