25 Jul John Pig, Gone Fishin’

One morning in summer when the weather was right
A parade of pink piggies rose to golden sunlight.
Today they prepared for a long day at the beach!
Basting in sunblock scented coconut-peach,

Tugging up swim trunks with patterns galore,
Each piggy had plans for what their day had in store.
One stuffed snorkeling gear into a zipped mesh sack,
Another an inner tube so she could float and kick back.

Another donned a floppy hat to match her sun-shades,
Lime green and heart-shaped to block the sun-rays.
But John Pig slipped on boots on the edge of his bed,
A jangling vest ’round his chest, a bucket hat on his head.

He had a new ruby tacklebox, a long cinder-black pole
A canvas bag full of snacks and only one goal.
John Pig was going fishin’ and had set in his sight
A fish big enough for the whole crowd of piggies tonight.

The other piggies raced to the beach’s sugar-white sands,
Pitched up their umbrellas and switched on their fans.
John Pig huffed and puffed to lug a wagon down the dune
And plopped down at a spot about an hour to noon.

He cracked open his tacklebox lousy with hooks
With wriggling lures and frogs in its crannies and nooks.
John Pig strung his line through the pole’s loops
While thinking where to cast to find some fish groups.

He started by the sandbar and went up to his knees
Bare-hoofed and splashed by emerald-green seas.
He slid on the hook a third of a silver sardine,
Reached back and thwack! cast somewhere unseen.

John Pig felt his line snag not long from his cast,
He fussed with it some but then cut his line at last.
Turning to shore, he marched up the squeaky sand
Restrung a line and silently made another plan.

He walked up the beach a hop, skip and a trot
And walked down the pier to find a new spot.
John Pig cast again with a fresh cut of bait
And once it was out, all he could do was wait.

He left out the line while he dug into his pack,
Unzipping the pouches that sealed up his snack.
Lemon curd swirls and grapes in a bunch,
Candy orange fudge and watermelon punch.

He munched for a minute but saw his pole bend,
His snout full of treats, he reeled in the end
And found that a fish bit the line from the hook!
He frowned as he thought about all the fish took.

John Pig dug through his tacklebox, worried,
But knew he’d catch nothing good if he hurried.
And now he knew for sure big fish swam below here!
So our angler piggy cast now closer to the pier.

He tied on a lead weight to weigh down the line
And wouldn’t let go of the pole a second time.
After a whole John Pig felt a tug from below!
He jerked and went slack, then he reeled it in slow.

And after a fight, when the fish was out of the surf,
John Pig reeled him up and laid him on his own turf.
It was a fat pompano gilded silver-and-gold,
Sure to fill the cooler, but John Pig, feeling bold,

Removed the hook quick from the pompano’s lip
And tossed him back into the waves with a flip.
A pompano could suffice for a small fishy dinner,
But John Pig wanted to be a big piggy winner

And even if all day he didn’t get another bite
He could sit and go fishing all through the night.
He caught himself two fish but none suited to eat:
The tarpon is too bony, sheepshead too petit.

John Pig knew the right fish was down deep,
A fighter, a biter, he wanted a flounder to keep.
He strung a braided line for if he snagged twice,
He attached a heavy leader and dropped it down nice.

And so John Pig gigged and he jerked and he teased
As the day turned to dusk and slow went the breeze.
Suddenly a pull came much stronger than John Pig!
He leaned from the pier and held tight to his rig,

It was heavy as the tarpon, with cobia’s cunning,
It darted all about and now John Pig was running!
The taut line heaved and the pole bent at an arc,
And with all his piggy might John reeled in his mark.

Beneath the dull green, he saw the shape appear –
A massive, flapping flounder! The king of the pier!
He leaned against the weight, his grip never failing
Until with a slap and a gasp it came over the railing.

Thirty pounds in all was the walnut-colored beast,
And for sun-tired piggies, it’d make a marvelous feast.
The flounder filled the cooler, half a piggy in its size,
And he hauled the cooler down to show off his prize.

While all the other fish together would be more to eat,
For John Pig it wouldn’t have been nearly half the feat.
A crowd of red piggies trudged through the door,
Covered in salt and crashed into heaps on the floor.

John Pig scaled the flounder and brought it inside,
Filleted it and turned up the oven to 385.
He massaged in the butter and the spices he wants,
Paprika and salt and herbs de Provence.

John greased up the pans and laid on the fish,
Slid in the oven and made the rest of the dish.
He added his walnuts then parmesan cheese,
Then sliced up a baguette for his tart olive caprese.

The piggies tuckered out from their gulf-side fun
Dined on the sides until the flounder was done.
John Pig poured them drinks, also homemade,
Ginger-spiced, simple syrup cherry lemonade.

Praises and thanks came in between sips,
And the flounder came out, panko golden and crisp.
It flaked on their forks and filled up their bellies,
With just enough room for John’s apricot jellies.

The piggies washed up from the sun and the sea,
And John Pig was as happy as a piggy could be.
He wiped down the kitchen with a grin and a hum
Pleased with all this little piggy had done.