I can remember
The scaly, slippery slime
That covered my hands
After I touched the magnificent
Green and silver bass.

We scooped him up
In a green mesh net
Then placed him in
An industrial white bucket
Where he swam in circles aimlessly
Atop the lopsided creaky dock.

Peering into the bucket,
I couldn't help but feel sorry
For this poor trapped creature.
Still, I couldn't shake off my feeling
Of success.
I caught the biggest,
Most divine,
Delicious looking bass
And I was only five!

When it came time to
Grill the fish for the cousins,
The grandparents,
And the parents –

I quietly asked my dad
“How do you kill the fish?”

At first his eyes glistened;
His mouth curled into a small smile
When he simply said
“They can't feel a thing.”

I wasn't convinced,
Glancing over
As Grandpa was slicing the skin,
Gutting the insides,
And tossing the pink filets
On the hot grill
Where the scales sizzled,
And the once happy fish
Cried for help.

My gaze was interrupted by a flicker.
Out of the corner of my eye
The white bucket
Moved haphazardly on the dock,
Water droplets splashing,

And I ran over to see the bass
Miraculously jump into the lake
Falling onto the hard rocks
Where he flapped his tail
And swam away quickly.

Relief.