I'm told it was a house of ill repute,
though I cannot vouch for that,
being as all this is hearsay.
Not knowing its true history,
whether it is true or false.
As for now as I know it,
the people come to ice fish,
with their little buckets,
bate and fishing poles.
Braving the winter's cold.
To sit on their overturned buckets
while into a hole in the ice,
they made especially
for the poles line
to dangle temptation.
Hoping the fish take notice.
I often wondered
what pleasure they took,
sitting on a cold bucket,
in the middle of nowhere.
Waiting for a fish to pull on their line.
While the cold winds blow,
insanity into their brains.
Mocking them as they sit and stare
at the moving water that
half circles the frozen cove.
Teasing them to the freezing waters,
that lay under the ice they tread.
As I watch in wonder
from my heated auto,
the joy in each face that
sits and waits for that little nibble.
While braving the icy winds,
that rip through their statue like presence.
Wishing I too were sitting in the cold,
feeling happy about nothing too.
Copyright © 1999 By Katie~