As a child, we would catch
our own bait.
My father would upturn
a rock after a rain
and point down.
‘Grab one’ he would instruct
me and I would reach
deep into the sleeve of styrofoam
cups. Handing it to him,
I would stare into the dirt
writhing with worms. He shoveled
earth and its passengers
away before clapping the mud
from his jeans, the ground looking
less alive.

– David Walker