In the cold, dark waters of the lake in Wisconsin,His yellow eyes swivel aboutHis ns never stop wavingI can barely hear the swish of his tail—Just a vibration in the waterHis brown-green scales are black in the murkHis translucent ns are almost invisibleI can almost taste the blood coming from his fresh mealBubbles oat to the surface—He is feedingI imagine the raw, mildew-ish stink that clings to himHis large nostrils areHe hears, and sees my bright rattle-trap lureHis white, razor-sharp teeth are moving up and downI feel the shaking,the pounding,the tension of my fishing lineThe giant, scaly monster-muskie swims away,The plastic chartreuse of my lure clutched between his killer teethI hear a ping! as my braided line snaps.