Catch & Release
       

Dear Reluctant Sportsman,
maybe you'll release one
into the watery teeth of the wilds,
a tiny capillary
of our great circulatory system.

Dear Familiar Face
in the Passenger Seat,
I saw you undressing
that comely cornfield.
I agree. Maybe
we're more alike than
our combustible engines
suggest, and if we are,
you hope the next truckstop
has a wedge of rhubarb
pie to die for, too.

Dear Cell Phone Radiation,
we arrive almost invisibly
on the threshold of distant
relatives like a secret cold front,
but our departure demands
much horn honking and
happy hands waving
all the way
to the end
of the on-ramp.
Our relief,
an algorithm
of how lonely
company makes us.

Dear Rainbow Trout,
you're a pretty fish
and I wish we lived
near the shivering brook
and the sunken tree.
Then maybe
we'd finally learn
how to leave
without regret.

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Copyright © 2013 William D. Waltz All rights reserved
from Adventures in the Lost Interiors of America
Cleveland State University Poetry Center
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission