Hot, enough that should you
Sit around, talking and having
A third, a fourth cigarette,
You would sweat. My friend urged me
Into my waders and to sink in the cold
Water. An icy river, even in mid spring.
We slowly steadied, on slippery stones,
Into the low current exposed, isolated.
I and he, men with rod, a hook and bait,
Carefully casting into our
Indeterminate time to wait.
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