A Poem: Long Island Sound

Bluefish hit the hook so hard they
rip off lips,
sink hooks deep
into gills into throat into stomach
beat themselves bloody
on the thwart
the boys
drink beer from their cooler
one after another
til the horn blows then
reel them in
and we’re ducking swinging hooks
and fish as long as my thigh
my arms ache as
fish pile up around my feet
gasping and slippery
we drop them
into bags and move our jackets as
the mate hoses gore from the gunwales
the sun is fine and the boys
drink beer
until the horn blows.