The damned end of the Lake lies
At latitude 33 degrees and 33 minutes North
(Give or take 56 seconds)
And
At longitude 111 degrees and 53 minutes West
(Give or take 61 seconds).
A strange albino rainbow trout, is often seen there.
(If often means, at least once every century)
And anyone who sees it.
Is sure to die.
(As much, as anyone who doesn’t, is)
Only, it must be said, generally quicker.
The Lake lies halfway between Phoenix, Arizona,
And the ghost town: Sunflower, about which –
Even Wikipedia is dumb.
And halfway also between, by metaphor,
The Resurrection, and the Grave.
It is therefore, the Lake of Life Itself.
Full of sunfish, catfish, walleye, tilapia and yellow perch.
Full of, at least one, undying albino bleached-out-rainbow trout,
With eyes like glazed half molten gobstoppers,
And a snide look to its mouth, where it chews hooks for fun.
In Sunflower, they talked of people ‘leaving for the lake’.
Until one day, there was no-one left to talk.
Someday soon, maybe, someone in Phoenix,
Will put some gas in the tank of his truck, and
Lit out, up route 87, ‘leaving for the lake’
The trickle will begin, until, eventually,
Six centuries hence, Phoenix will be a ghost town,
About which, even trans-ultra-pedia is dumb.
Unless of course, we catch the rainbow first.
Frying the devil on our skillets.
We try hard, but fishing blindfold
(To avoid the curse), is at best fiddly,
And at worst, begging for an accident.
Twice now our hooks have bit into our own cheeks.
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