My Father's Lake

I sit on the edge of my father’s lake

Fishing pole in hand, hope to get a catch

What’s off in the distance? Slithering snake.

Slowly advancing, I remain for a match

 

The Damn thing puts a cigar in his mouth

Then puts on a fedora and a bow

Hallucination not, not this far south

Damn yankee he must be, where do you sow?

 

“From your father’s misdeed, come to claim thee”

What misdeed? My father is dead, yankee!

“He promised me your soul, for this dead sea”

Hand me the contract, you got me cranky

A fish tugs on my line and pulls me in

“Damn Yank, this aint my fathers lake” I grin