On midnight shadows he floats with the loons,
pitching and casting his baited hook overboard,
a bobber twitching as catfish nibble his mind,
fiddle strung under his chin, a fishtailing grin
in the ripples, he warbles maniacally. The sky
drips moonshine into the pools in his eyes as
he casts, spinning, flying on the spool, twisting
as he loses grip and flutters away on currents,
jigging in the depths while I weigh anchor.
I smile as we laugh and reel down the river
and he winks until only a grin remains in the stars.
— Alex Pickens
Alex Pickens has lived over 20 years in southern Appalachia, where he spends much of his time hiking, reading the Classics, and fingerpicking the blues. His work has recently been accepted by The Inkwell Journal, Maudlin House, Mad Scientist Journal (4 times), Gone Lawn, Pretty Owl Poetry, Brilliant Flash Fiction, Eastern Iowa Review, Jersey Devil Press, Crack the Spine, and Moonpark Review, while his flash fiction has been nominated for a Best Microfiction, 2018 anthology. He is a direct descendent of a Revolutionary War general nicknamed “The Wizard Owl.”
Editor’s Note: The silhouette of a man with his son in a boat fishing (pngtree) on the lake/moonlit waters (flyclip art).