by Brent Fisk

My grandmother had the meanest eye when she held the gig. Our flatboat parted the stiff green reeds. A sudden sun shining into all that muck. Back at the camper, my brother and I watched the bullfrogs bleed. Flour, pepper, salt shaken in a coffee can. Grease spitting mad in an old black skillet.


Brent Fisk, author of Five Card Draw, is a three-time Pushcart nominee who recently won an honorable mention in Boulevard's Emerging Poets contest. His work has appeared in Mimesis, Rattle, Fugue, and Southern Poetry Review among other places.

1 comment:

Madam Z said...

Beautifully succinct and vividly descriptive. I can picture every reed, every drop of bullfrog blood, every speck of pepper and drop of grease. Can't taste the frogs though; darn it!