Treble Hook

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.

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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.