Tonight I’m poling
up the creek
for bullfrog gigging.
Here’s my gear–
gig with trident prongs,
lantern,
bucket with aerator.
You may wonder
what I do with ‘em.
I eat ‘em!
The small ones I keep
for bait for lunker bass.
A coupla weeks ago, a fella
came on my night tour.
He was a real Indian,
not one of ours.
Works for NASA in Huntsville.
He even wore his rag–
headdress I mean–
it was about 90 that night.
You know he didn’t want
any frogs to take back home
for dinner?
He eats no meat. I said, “Frogs ain’t meat.”
He said, “If it’s alive and moving,
it’s meat.”
Whatever.
Said “I need to let my wife…”
“Wife!” I said.
Sally lets me stay out all night
as long as I’m back by sun up.
She’s a real fine gal.
A real looker too!
What are you writing down there?
You a song-writer?
Can you put me in?
Me, I like the oldies–
Lynyrd Skynyrd, ZZ Top.
Yeah, I feel safe here.
Luther knows all the creeks
and steers me away from the meth lab.
He’s a real fine hunter,
a good gig-man, perfect at night
since he’s black like the ace of spades.
You may think I’m agin’
the Nigras. I’m not.
I just don’t want any as my mayor.
Thank God, Barack Hussein Obama
is out. He kicked out
the Mexicans so he could let in
his Muslim friends.
They’re even in Congress!
At least my Indian, Mr. Singh,
ain’t one of them.
He told me so himself.
Me, I’m Christian,
Bible-reading and firm-believing.
I read it every day,
but I don’t like some parts.
“Vengeance is mine says the Lord.”
Since the Lord is way up in Heaven,
why can’t I do the job for him?