In the cold, dark waters of the lake in Wisconsin,
His yellow eyes swivel about
His ns never stop waving
I can barely hear the swish of his tail—
Just a vibration in the water
His brown-green scales are black in the murk
His translucent ns are almost invisible
I can almost taste the blood coming from his fresh meal
Bubbles oat to the surface—
He is feeding
I imagine the raw, mildew-ish stink that clings to him
His large nostrils are
He hears, and sees my bright rattle-trap lure
His white, razor-sharp teeth are moving up and down
I feel the shaking,
the pounding,
the tension of my fishing line
The giant, scaly monster-muskie swims away,
The plastic chartreuse of my lure clutched between his killer teeth
I hear a ping! as my braided line snaps.