Fly fishing in Bromley

for Adam

The lake pulls my nerves taut
like a mirror of my heart –
a reflection of hidden jeopardy.

I cast my line and draw it tight
Darkness is falling. Why would I
plant my best shoes in the mud

to test a half-forgotten skill
against an unseen enemy
if not tugged by an ancient memory?

For it is not normal to kill.
It is as if something in me
is seeking to stop time itself.

The cruel world below
is slimy and bestial.
Man eats pike, pike eats minnow.

Perhaps it is just evolution.
Bigger fish are tormenting me
and so, in staring into this mirror

I am merely passing hurt down the line
although I have no need to –
to inflict pain on an invisible foe.