A year of fish battles, good and bad, in verse

2004, Peace and War

Who dared to hope in spring of year

that summer sun would long appear?

What dreamer dreamt sleek Chinook

would crowd his way up Inlet, Cook?

Which caster-fore boldly said

the tides would flood with fattened Red?

Where were the prophets, now self-right

who wag their tongues in hinder sight?

A year when fortune blew our way

in breeze that dwindled every day.

And failure fell more by chance

that lack of finny happenstance.

Processors plumped their cheeks with glee

as plants pushed their capacity.

Burgeoned streets with tourist trade

found our rivers rich to wade.

And do the thankful tinkle glass

around the taverns you might ask?

Do they murmur from their pew

a quiet little "Lord thank-you"?

Shall we scrape the scabbing wound

soon as the meetings have resumed?

Cut the smile, put on a frown

we're off to meet in Anger-town!

Brent Johnson, Clam Gulch