DEWEY - rick hale

My placid uncle enjoyed the‭ ‬1990‭ ‬shore of the lake in a plaid lawn chair.‭ ‬He had a fishing pole with an empty plastic milk jug where the hook would normally be.‭ ‬At night he'd cast the jug out through the evening bugs clouding over the water and it would come down with a hollow splash.‭ ‬Reel in,‭ ‬cast again.‭ ‬Splash.‭ ‬There was a giant lidless jar of Vlasics open beside his chair.‭ ‬He would allow himself a pickle every time he bopped an alligator's head with the jug.‭ ‬Fonk.‭ ‬It was usually pitch dark,‭ ‬but he could tell when he'd succeeded by the sound of thrashing and clapping jaws out in the water.‭ ‬My uncle would crunch a bumpy pickle with his teeth.‭ ‬His large laughs would go out through the marshy air like storks,‭ ‬invisible in the dark as they flew to peck at the lizards‭' ‬rough green skin.‭ ‬But there came a day when those alligators learned to follow the jug to shore.‭ ‬They slid out of the pale green water,‭ ‬smashed the jar.‭ ‬Pickles slopped out and the label got all wet.‭ ‬Vlasic.‭ ‬My uncle laughed as he ran.

Rick Hale
The Journey to the East
Hermann Hesse