Tournament
Twas the night of the tournament and all through the lake,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a drake.
The poles were out, tightened with care,
In hopes that a catfish would soon be there.
John in his chair and I on the bow,
Both hoping for a catfish as big as a cow.
When out on the water there arose such a clatter,
We both jumped up to see what was the matter.
Away to the poles we flew in a flash,
Hitting the lights that were attached to the dash.
The moon on the water gave a good glow,
The line stared to peel, man watch it glow.
John picked up the rod and gave it a hard jerk,
The pole bent double and I went to work.
Shinning the light hoping for a glance,
Then there it was, I don’t think we have a chance.
It was chubby and plump from whiskers to tail,
I am not sure if it will fit on our scale.
Think it could be a world record at best,
Maybe a sponsorship with our names on our vest.
The flopping and splashing of tail and fin,
With one final splash it took off again.
Then all of the sudden the line went slack,
Oh my God, John fell on his back.
That’s the last we saw as it swam out of sight,
I looked at John and said “well there’s always tomorrow night”.
GusRead next
From @possumworks