Treble Hook
- Jan 11
- 1 min read
My father never told me.
I never told my son,
though I know that tug.
But he has told his children.
Those words, I tell him,
are like a treble hook laced with a worm
a bass swallows—
needle-nose pliers can’t pull it back
without tearing tissues in the throat or gut.
Leave it, I tell him, and hope it dissolves.
William Palmer’s poetry has appeared in American Literary Review, Ecotone, I-70 Review, JAMA, J Journal, One Art, Poetry East, and elsewhere. A retired professor of English at Alma College, he lives in Traverse City, Michigan.
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