The One That Got Away (Poetry)

There was no doubt about it, he was huge:
his length extended with each glass of beer,
and he was old and crafty, knew of ways
to steal the bait and quietly disappear

without a ripple, but a wakeful eye
might see an awesome shadow rise and sink,
casual through the water’s teaming soup,
and tease the watcher with a passing glint

of tarnished scales before frail weeds allowed
his bulk to shelter under their green fan,
seeming smug, his fishy wiles supreme,
outwitting all the cunning ploys of man.

Old Soloman they called him, and the name
became a thing of myth for no one caught
the mighty pike that stole their hapless worms
and gave them yarns to spin about their sport.

Some believe him dead but others swear
they’ve glimpsed the monster, seen the waters wake
to movement, felt his presence by their line,
the undefeated spirit of the lake.