wildscape. literary journal

Nothing Biting
by Richard Jordan

First cool breeze off Cobb Pond & already
I’m bracing for frosted windows & clanking pipes
as I stand here with my father’s Shakespeare Wonder

Rod, so old it’s made of fiberglass. The best
for soft presentations, for imparting subtlety
to a Hula Popper’s chug. That’s what

my father used to say & like he taught
I’m on the watch for fevered boils at the edge
of lily pads where lunker bass gulp golden

shiners & fatten up for winter. But I see nothing.
Scan the sky, I can almost hear him say.
Osprey circle when fish are near the surface.

The sky is spotless. On the shore a mere
few feet away, curled like an ampersand,
a small, black snake flicks its tongue to taste the air.

I can’t recall fatherly wisdom pertinent
to snaky ampersands. Here’s what I think:
not even vintage fishing gear will lure

largemouths from the depths today. It’s just
me & this snake sunning at summer’s end,
an occasional sparkle dancing across the water.

about the author // Richard Jordan