Steve Katz - Lost Loving Lost Fishing Lost Feeding

Fall '10 TOC

Heaven dried up here, though whitecaps &
  Wind anoint.  The flight of the floozy handicaps
This fat gnarly thistle of a guy, a pudgy
  Old runt, really; but life for him has the power
Of a nightingale ode tranced into the language
  Of disappearing cod.  Codspeak never again.  They'll
Never overcome the surfeit of fishermen, wednesday
  Draggers on the Grand Banks.  The slaughter complete.
Humans define these ancient inhabitants, not long
  Ago moving in schools forty miles wide.  Our schools
Now speak of losing role models, as if the sea were
  The inner city; the young cod followed once
Behind the great ones, to their feeding grounds
  Now fished out.  They knew the way.  These not.
They swim into little bays, where no cod has ever
  Gone before, clean-bottom bays, no food here,
No codmating joy.  Byby baccalà.  So long merry flings.

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