Fishing Season

Is this the end of the line?

So sorry.

Didn’t mean to cut inside your vital

soft parts.

Accident I assure

You know I make way

for ladies and gentiles. Just

wait, I will sweep the floor with

my Yiddish hair.

Slick me upside

a doorway, let me

kiss the mezuzah.

It’s fine, what’s the hook today?

What’s the catch? How

do I get to the front

of the line?

Such a creature of habit

I am, simple jewfish.

It’s fishing season at the

synagogue, cold.

My fingers are fucking numb.

What’s that at the end of my line?

It’s a monkfish.

My god, we are drowning in ecclesiastic

fish but what I want to know is where

the devil swims.

Okay cut the line.

Cut the bait in half, part for you

parting ways for me

out on the boat fishing for saints.

Jig jiggle harder.

Line them up, every damned priest.

Bend them overboard, let them

preach to the haddock.

About Karen To and Fro

Everything you didn't want to know about me!
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