Underneath ... (a fish tale)

Mud,
black and smelly
like cold week old
chili that's been
left out to spoil,
I smoosh my toes
down into the guck
and watch
them vanish as they're
sucked under.

My red cork
bobs in the river,
as I occasionally tug
but forever being
outsmarted by
fish that swim
in the dark
and brackish water
of the Altamaha.

For all I know
there are eyes
of strange creatures
just beneath
the surface watching,
using a long tongue
like a windshield wiper
to wipe away
mud from the lens's
of their eyes.

My toes are
in another world
where worms
and crawling no-see-ums
squirm and wriggle
yet I feel nothing
but the muddy yuck
and coolness
against my feet.

I lift my foot.
The mud slurps
my toes,
like the first
scoop of jell-o
being spooned
from the bowl,
trying to suck them
into the underworld.

I pull in my line
and find once again
that I've been robbed,
my bait gone
and a muddy blob
of earthy muck
left in it's place
like a calling card
"We were here."

The smell of
rot and decay
wafts up
to my nostrils.
I pull my feet out
and wipe them
in the deep grass
growing thick
on the riverbank

leaving holes
in the mud where
my feet were,
slowly being refilled
by creatures below,
annoyed that once
again they'd failed
to pull in the big one
that got away.

-Lynn Hamilton Rutherford

A Response to Mag 15 from Magpie Tales