June 24, 2012Morning HaulHope Coulter

Just as, every morning,
my grandfather checked his trotlines,

throwing out gar and snapping turtles,
pulling in bream and catfish

and sometimes a bass
green-wet turning white in the sun,

so I, in a shallower world,
check the e-mail that came in the night,

throwing out ugly ones
with viral attachments like teeth.

What a decline

        from the mist
            coming off
                    the pond, the slanting

            sun, the knobby
                knees of the cypress, the long
            walk

    back up the pier.