Fishing
How am I supposed to know
The colour of the sky on a cloudy day
Or the feeling that lies behind a smile?
How am I supposed to know
The intent of an invitation
To a party all know I will not attend?
How am I supposed to take a drink
When all I know is the horror of the stuff
A drink that makes my mother cry
A drink that makes my sister scream
Not that it was just that
There was no way I could have known that
These lessons that I learned too early
Have shown me too much of the world
Happiness came to me in solitude
There is no gossip there to torture my logic
Only the big fish swimming among the weeds
It was then I knew, but didn’t know
That I didn’t go there for the fish
Only to get away, to talk to the old men
Who on occasion were friendly
The tremble of the line was a surprise
It was so rare a thing to frighten
A body who was simply navigating the boulders
And taking in the view with a stick in hand
