I joined the pomp of fisho's high-fiving
After clubbing them in the head
To welcome the salmons' homecoming
Not for the natives' return to homestead
That spawned them seven springs ago
Nor for their narrow escape from nets spread
All the sounds and inlets above and below
Their bellies big with milts and roes
And a bigger breeding heart to follow —
But for drunken bragging fishing skill shows
That double or triple the keepers' size
After gobbling them down as hearty chows
Fresh from freezing brine of the Bering seas
Whose homecoming hot hell becomes
As into men's harvesting pans they squeeze —
Amidst whoops, yeehas, and wows I likewise
Cast and re-cast my baited hooks for a prize —
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