Fisherman’s Lie

 

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Photo Credit: Tourism Saskatchewan

I met up with some fellas
and got to swappin’ lies
‘bout hunting up the Blackstone
and the art of tyin’ flies.

When Stan got to talkin’ fishing
an’ the big ones in the Swan
The one he lost was forty pounds
near the weed beds where they spawn.

“A full six feet, if he’s an inch,
a trophy, plain an’ clear.”
A smile spread cross his shaven jaw
and he took a slug of beer.

“Well,” I said, when he had quit
and all but had his say,
“My story’s much the same as yours
‘cept it happened on the Tay.”

“I’d hooked to something deep an’ hard
I was sure I had a snag
So I jerked it hard to pull it loose
over the crying of the drag.

And when I got it free and clear
to what should I aspire?
I’d caught myself a Coleman lamp
and the wick was still afire.”

“Bull!” he said, “Ain’t no way
you just made up all of it.”
He used a few well chosen names
then said I’s full of … never mind.

So I rolled my eyes, had a laugh,
I could see he was near to fight.
I said, “You cut your fish to size
an’ I’ll blow out the light!”

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