Reading by the Iowa River
The hairs on my arm
Ahead are pedophile-like whiskers
And pallid lips.
Ogling while I gulp coffee and read poetry
Is the pervert fish.
Duck, he can’t risk hard evidence, he’s
Been caught before.
His finely tuned sense of smell lets
Him hunt late.
He is a channel cat, Ictalurus punctatus,
That old bastard will resurface
Why am I a mouse?