Tuesday, June 29, 2021

The Catch

Reader's Note: The following is a sonnet written after I saw my old Chevy Caprice towed away to the auto salvage yard from in front of my uptown basement apartment decades ago. I owned it less than a year, but it got me where I needed to be for a few short months. Fond memories.

They dragged it away, hooked tight, on a truck,
its pretentious grillwork snout in the air,
strung up, caught like a fish run amuck
at this angler’s taste for junk-rusted fare.
It left me, wounded, lurching in disdain,
a glassy fish eye cocked askance, a plea
for gentlemanly sportsmanship in vain:
they reeled it aft, its tail still in the sea.
I coldly watched the rainbow tarnished scales
below the gas tank shine from water beads
and oil, coughed up through dry air-gaping gils,
and said, “Behold by Triton where it bleeds.”
It is scraped by now, metal gut from bone,
axles bare and fish eyes turned to stone.

~William Hammett

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