I clicked inbox,
saved what came up,
Word opened it:
Wilbur's The Catch—
a strange poem
about fishing,
a woman's dress,
double meanings.
On the oak chair,
restless I read,
read it again,
understood none;
idiot reader—
I called myself,
stood up to smoke
Jamaican weed.
Reread I did,
slowly browsing
Merriam-Webster,
searching online,
checking forums
all literature,
then I found porn—
Sexy Couple.
Her sheer chemise
licorice silk,
in leather pumps,
she wore perfume
the handsome guy
smelled... a Chanel,
No. 19—
classy, indeed.
I saw no sex
but French kissing,
slight nudity,
gentle massage—
it was soft porn;
I closed the site
to read again
for the fifth time.
Now I grasped it,
the veiled poem—
Wilbur, her muse,
fisher or fish
to each other,
but still not sure
if I got lured
or did catch them.
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