The Mississippi mirrors a graveyard tonight.

I see a tackle box and a young boy
Holding a sunfish attached to wire,
Dangling from a fishing pole.

The fish gasps for breath.
The young boy smiles.

His father (or this particular guardian)
Has a horseshoe patterned hairline;
It reminds me of a woman I fucked
That shaved her pubis to resemble
The same pattern.

My toes are buried in the sand
And chiggers gnaw at them
Like earthworms ingesting a corpse.

I glance again at the young boy,
His father reaches into the fish’s mouth
And removes the hook that captured the animal.

All three of us watch as it wiggles inside his palm for a second,
Dies. The air smells of dead fish.
The Mississippi mirrors a graveyard tonight.

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