I was a novice angler.
A junkie, nodding out,
Whispered, come a little
Closer—I’m going to
Let you in on a secret.
She pulled out her
Fillet knife & stabbed
Me just below my ribs
& started to laugh. As
I strained for oxygen,
The opposite I imagined
Of a fish flopping on
The dock, I flashed to
Eels darting & accumulating
In my newly decaying body.
She giggled that the knife
Was only rubber, which
Reminded me of random
Reinforcement, how you
Never know; that’s
The thing about fishing.
 
 
Photo by Adeel Anwer

Bruce Cohen

BRUCE COHEN's poems have appeared recently in AGNI, The Alaska Quarterly Review, The Gettysburg Review, The Harvard Review, The New Yorker, Ploughshares, & The Southern Review. He has published five volumes of poetry, most recently No Soap, Radio (Black Lawrence Press) and Imminent Disappearances, Impossible Numbers & Panoramic X-Rays, which was awarded the 2015 Green Rose Prize from New Issues Press.

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