The Eel in the Raritan Canal

I was seventeen. What did I knowabout boats, about fishing,about fish, what mightbe beneath us, me& my first love. A friendlent his canoe, tackle, reels,rods. What we used as baitI can’t recall. I’d never, exceptat Tommy’s Pond, & mostlypretend, safety pin & WonderBread, but here a goal: bring itto hand. My love would help meland it. We must’ve sat & waited;he must’ve rowed, shareda Guinness, smoked a bowl.After a while, a tug on my line,& up from the deep a slick,finless bounce & spin,whacking & slamminglike a disobedient steel-grayhose, some Jersey serpent,unwieldy live wire from below.I wasn’t sure what it was, whatto make of this acrobatic fuse.Knew nothing of their larval journeyto rivers and reservoirs, their long,bottom-feeding lives that culminatewhen the moon tells them it’s timefor a thousand-mile swim to spawnin the Sargasso Sea. Spawnand die. Knew only my love,who whacked its headagainst the boat, gray slimeoozing out. I hadn’t yet fallenfor the unbridled, that furious force. Wild thing I think youmove me I might have sung,but had not left the small craftcalled fear, otherwise known as home.