A Fortunate Dinner

The concrete bridge was as sun bleached
As the old black men who fished there
We stood shoulder-to-shoulder
Casting over and pulling up our traps

They who taught me where
To buy twenty nine cent chicken wings
And to leave them to ripen in the sun
And to wait awhile to pull it in

The traps were triangular contraptions
That opened flat on the bay mud
Where we waited on a crab or croaker
Or some other scavenger to eat a bit of chicken

There was no tug, only patience and chance
With their help, this poor white kid
Filled a bucket an odd assortment
Then nursed a sunburn and glowed in the cheap dinner

We ate, hungry for protein and glad for a change

Today, I can longer afford
To spend a Saturday catching supper
But I remember with every bridge I cross
Being hungry and helpless and fortunate, too

So fish on my friends to whom staying alive is sport enough