Trendy Fly Fisherman
Today he's wearing his new shirt
drab and olive like an ominous cloud
rising over the mountain peaks,
and as he wades camouflaged like
a stealthy warrior, the sleeves speak
to each other, warning the bright fish below.
His waders are neoprene, green and warm, as tight
as Danskins on a prima ballerina, or gymnast.
(They leave him wrinkled when he sheds them).
He's got on his felt-soled wading shoes
in pond-scum green and a fishing vest
that matches his new shirt, but bears the signs
of eons treading this water. His hat is ragged
and floppy, like a torn flag in the wind, and it shades
the sun from his eyes as he searches
the riffles, casting about in a dead drift.
The fish are rolling and laughing under
this olive cloud of fishing fashion.
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