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1872–1906

FISHING

Paul Laurence Dunbar

Wen I git up in de mo'nin’ an’ de clouds is big an’ black, Dey's a kin’ o’ wa'nin’ shivah goes a-scootin’ down my back; Den I says to my ol’ ooman ez I watches down de lane, “Do n't you so't o’ reckon, Lizy, dat we gwine to have some rain?”

“Go on, man,” my Lizy answah, “you cai n't fool me, not a bit, I do n't see no rain a-comin’, ef you's wishin’ fu’ it, quit; Case de mo’ you t'ink erbout it, an de mo’ you pray an’ wish, W'y de rain stay‘ way de longah, spechul ef you wants to fish.”

But I see huh pat de skillet, an’ I see huh cas’ huh eye Wid a kin’ o’ anxious motion to'ds de da'kness in de sky; An’ I knows whut she‘ s a-t'inkin’, dough she tries so ha'd to hide. She‘ s a-sayin’, “Would n't catfish now tas'e monst'ous bully, fried?”

Den de clouds git black an’ blackah, an’ de thundah‘ mence to roll, An’ de rain, it‘ mence a-fallin’. Oh, I's happy, bless my soul! Ez I look at dat ol’ skillet, an’ I‘ magine I kin see Jes’ a slew o’ new-ketched catfish sizzlin’ daih fu’ huh an’ me.

‘ T ai n't no use to go a-ploughin’, fu’ de groun’‘ ll be too wet, So I puts out fu’ de big house at a moughty pace, you bet, An’ ol’ mastah say, “Well, Lishy, ef you t'ink hit‘ s gwine to rain, Go on fishin’, hit‘ s de weathah, an’ I‘ low we cai n't complain.”

Talk erbout a dahky walkin’ wid his haid up in de aih! Have to feel mine evah minute to be sho’ I got it daih; En’ de win’ is cuttin’ capahs an’ a-lashin’ thoo de trees, But de rain keeps on a-singin’ blessed songs, lak “Tek yo’ ease.”

Wid my pole erpon my shouldah an’ my wo'm can in my han’, I kin feel de fish a-waitin’ w'en I strikes de rivah's san’; Nevah min’, you ho'ny scoun'els, need n’ swim erroun’ an’ grin, I‘ ll be grinnin’ in a minute w'en I‘ mence to haul you in.

W'en de fish begin to nibble, an’ de co'k begin to jump, I‘ s erfeahed dat dey‘ ll quit bitin’, case dey hyeah my hea't go “thump,” ‘ Twell de co'k go way down undah, an’ I raise a awful shout, Ez a big ol’ yallah belly comes a gallivantin’ out.

Need n't wriggle, Mistah Catfish, case I got you jes’ de same, You been eatin’, I‘ ll be eatin’, an’ we needah ai n't to blame. But you need n't feel so lonesome fu’ I‘ s th'owin’ out to see Ef dey ai n't some of yo’ comrades fu’ to keep you company.

Spo't, dis fishin’! now you talkin’, w'y dey ai n't no kin’ to beat; I don’ keer ef I is soakin’, laigs, an’ back, an’ naik, an’ feet, It‘ s de spo't I‘ s lookin’ aftah. Hit‘ s de pleasure an’ de fun, Dough I knows dat Lizy‘ s waitin’ wid de skillet w'en I's done.

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FISHING · Paul Laurence Dunbar · Poetry Cove