Worms Are Icky, Sticky and Wiggly (second version)

a poem by Linda Bates Terrell, USA

By the edge of the pond on Dirt Creek Road
Learning what life had to hold
Close by the bend, dirt, rock drive
Dodging all the old bee's hives

Down, along the dark dirt and grassy lane
passing by a barn wood john, half moon window pane
There by the pond we stood,
Oh my, a worm-- I tired to hold
Upon my fish hook I imagined it'd be,
But that task was--- all upon me.

How? I ask my self shall this ever be?
I'm a city girl you see.
A worm on a hook? By me?
I couldn't bare that thought-- ta-do.
EU! Me? Worm guts, and their stinking goo.

But to catch a fish, a task I'd have to master.
Supper of just taters and bread's a country disaster.
So on a big gray rock I laid that worm squiggling.
I poked and poked at it, as it kept squiggling.

Dear Cousin, bated her hook-- then mine.
Soon that worm slid off my hook and line.
Had to master this some how, you see.
Even thought of jabbing it to a tree.

This wasn't going to be easy at all.
Not a city girl used to treading the mall
Looked at my cousin, you see,
As she looked back at me.

Somehow managed, now worm on hook, so right.
Turned my head, was a slimy sight.
Again, and again that day worms over a rock.
Oh, half closed eyes, gooey minds sight, I'd block.

Again, tossed line in water, hook, worm, bobber and all.
It splashed in the water, again, felt my skin crawl.
It was a hot day, cousin and I chat for a while.
All while visions of supper's fried fish made us smile.

Thoughts of a fish to grab, as it bit a worm
Well, made me fidgit, frown and even squirm.
This city girl, well lets say, has a lot learn.
Country cousin, we sit, tossing line on our turn.

With a splash and a splop, that bobber did sink.
Joy on our face, anticipations toppled to the brink.
This I soon found--- awe, it was just so much fun.
Then--- I pulled and pulled. Fish weighted a ton.

He pulled, he flopped, that big old bass fish.
Cousin and I, sure, he'd be supper in our dish.
We yanked and tugged, oh, muddy water, dirt and crud.
Planted our feet on the bank, in cold slickie mud

Now cold fish in uncle's hand, all ick's over now
But oh, smiles we had, what fun-- and how!
The day soon turned to dusk, fillet now uncle's plight
Yum... what a delight, fried up golden brown by auntie,
and--- just right.


Linda Bates Terrell
Written @ July 8, 2013

To Escape
My Collection of Poems 2008 - 2012
Worms Are Icky, Sticky and Wiggly (first version)
Just A Hunt'n Them Big Night Crawlers
Poems collection of July 2013
Worms Are Icky, Sticky and Wiggly (first version)

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