Why are they angling on the pier,
their gear well taken care off:
they know of fiberglass and throwing line,
of spods and rods, harpoons and hooks,
they only use real feathers,
and have the best of bait,
real flies, some worms, some dough,
and they wear fancy wellingtons
and mackintoshes in rain, in wind,
in autumn fog, for days, for nights, forever,
enduring cold and loneliness,
in misery and pain, in need,
their newspapers soon soaked,
beer running out, their cigarettes
all wet and damp and swollen are their feet,
arthritis and bronchitis felt,
and fish won’t bite, they get provoked,
and worms escape, and oh how horrible
it altogether smells,
when only twenty yards away
there is a cosy fish and chips?
With haddock on a sale and all!
Because they’re men.
Why else?

The beautiful photo of the Whitby Pier was taken by David Agnew, I thank him for letting me use it!


Comments on: "Fish" (9)

  1. This is hilarious….love it!

  2. Men go fishing. It’s so they can sit around doing nothing for hours. Their wives won’t let them do that at home.

  3. I saw it coming but still had a giggle at the end! Enjoyed.

  4. I have a Whitby photograph which would go well with this poem – I will try to find it for you.

    Much love


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