Photo By Jools Thatcher

Photo By Jools Thatcher

The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “Tide”

Ed Bates returns to the guitar duties this week

[audio:JVG_Poem20091115.mp3]

Tide

“This” crowed ‘Pig’ Mills, to those forced to bear his spiel
“Is a Steelite Fishkil Revolving Drum Multiplier Reel”

“A Pflueger Wizard Wriggler and a vintage Creek Chub Sucker”
“A Wilson Fluted Wobbler – now that’s nifty little fucker”

“Class dismissed” the teacher cried, overjoyed to hear the bell
Relief, as always, marked the break when ‘Pig’ gave ‘Show and Tell’

His Grandad, recently deceased, left ‘Pig’ his fishing gear
And the latter, ego rampant, assumed the world would want to hear

‘Rabbit’ mumbled wearily, as ‘Pig’ gibbered away
“The less he knows a subject the more the wanker has to say”

“His ego is as massive as his breadth of knowledge small”
“Confined’ as ‘Rabbit’ noted “To one tenth of bugger all”

So he challenged ‘Pig’ to prove he could use that tackle box
They agreed to meet next morning and go fishing off the rocks

‘Pig’ must have known that ‘Rabbit’ finally had him nailed
But when ego clashed with judgement it was the former that prevailed

Believing his own bullshit, it didn’t seem to matter
That the only fish he’d ever seen came fried and sealed in batter

“What time?” ‘Pig’ retorted – ‘Rabbit’ snarled “You decide”
“Pig’s’ Grandad always said “The most important thing’s the tide”

A tide chart in the tackle box stained with blood and bait
“2nd of August, A.M. – high tide’s at 6:08”

‘Pig’ couldn’t sleep – a first for him, so he practised fastening hooks
He soon discovered the art of fishing couldn’t be gleaned from books

Ten to six, they descended the cliff, a moonless, pitch black night
Relying on touch – they had no torch, and still an hour before first light

A head wind blew both strong and cold, a harsh Antarctic blast
‘Pig’ uncorked his ‘Fluted Wobbler’ and into the darkness cast

Neither sound of the waves nor chattering teeth could be heard above the gale
The rain that drenched their duffle coats gave way to sleet and hail

‘Rabbit’ curled up in a sodden ball and wedged himself in a crag
In the darkness ‘Pig’ had no way of knowing ‘Rabbit’s’ rod was still in it’s bag

‘Pig’s’ ears stung as though slashed with a knife – he felt like Vincent Van Gogh
Three times he claimed to have hooked a fish, three times the bastard got off

He’d shout in triumph, as he battled the monster, as yet unseen in the black
Then curse in despair, as though cheated of justice, robbed, when the line went slack

And so it went on till just after seven, when dawn threw light on the quay
Confronting ‘Pig’ was a tangle of line, the size of the MCG

As for the monster ‘Pig’ almost landed, ‘Rabbit’ soon spotted the brute
‘Pig’s’ lure, his precious ‘Fluted Wobbler’ was firmly hooked onto his boot

As the sun rose higher, the weather lifted, illuminating their ledge
Revealing their rocky outcrop was a mile from the water’s edge

“The tide’s way out you piece of flake, you’ve stuffed up again, you nong”
‘Pig’ got all defensive “It’s the chart that got it wrong”

“Look, 2nd of August, 6:08 – exactly like I said”
“I believe I’m owed an apology – not copping abuse instead”

“You’re worse than I thought, you dip stick, the tide’s out between your ears”
“This chart’s for 1926 – you’re out by forty years”

“Not only that, you dumb cock – this tidal chart’s for Perth”
“Surely” snapped ‘Pig’ the tide goes out at the same time all over the earth?”

‘Rabbit’ gave up and headed for home – and ‘Pig’ was glad he did
Deeply offended, ‘Pig’ raided the bait box and ate all the pilchards and squid

The lesson, if there’s one to be had – is stupidity cohabits with pride
Most of us fish around in the dark, with no idea of the tide

While we seek to make life orderly, reality is more ramshackle
Blokes, of all ages, spend way too much time talking about their tackle

© Copyright 2009 Ian Bland

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