Trabajar en el hoyo

Reeling them in was the clean part
Then the chubby Americans would
Drink their light beers and
Snap pictures with digital cameras
Not one of me preparing their catch
I never cared because I don't work
For weekend fishermen
Papa always quoted Expesians six:
“Servid de buena voluntad,
como al Señor, no como a los hombres”
More than gutting fish
This body serves its creator
Down below the landing I
Expressed my manhood by
Earning a dirty wage
Enough to feed Junior and his mother
More than a job
I squared things with God in the sun
In the pit I face my sins
The Lord rips them out
Of me like the heart
In the marlin I strip
As sure as the stench of the fish
Will follow me home
The baggage of my flesh
Is always left under the dock
Along with the blood of the dorado
The gringos have their filets
I've got my reckoning

--Shenandoah Lynd
(Inspired from Jon Hall's mixed-media artwork
and post, "Cabo, sportfishing" pictured above)