Going Fishing


You bloody man! You bossy brat!
Your ceaseless banter, one sided, chit, chat!
My thoughts are muddled. My head is spinning.
Sorry my dear, but I’m going fishing!
I’ll miss you of course, while gently I float,
And quietly ponder, who will row this boat?
The answer of course, is standing on shore,
Tall, dark and handsome and eyeing me more.
I call out sweetly, and say with a smile,
I don’t suppose, you’d like to paddle awhile?
A look of surprise quickly turns to a grin,
As he holds up his rod and gingerly climbs in.
He quickly takes charge of the compact craft,
Taking long even strokes to mobilize my raft.
I let out my line, sighing with pleasure,
Enjoying the view, the epitome of leisure.
Despite my luck, of this marvelous find,
Something uneasy lurks in my mind.
A tug at my heart a longing within,
Leaves me wanting for my own man’s skin.
I quickly apologize for my apparent mistake,
Hand him his catch, which he reluctantly takes.
He maneuvers the boat back to the shore,
Understandably annoyed, an ego that’s sore.
I really don’t care, I’m anxious to go,
I’m longing to see, a verbose man that I know.
I’ve learned my lesson, and despite his not listening,
My heart must be attached, when I go fishing!

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