The Old Man We Pick Up In Browning Poem by Ed Skoog

The old man we pick up in Browning
coughs diesel and range
snow blocks us from fishing the reservoir

wiper blade waving as if to flag us down
a dog pisses on my tackle box at the Conoco
the guide who leads us here catches

fish like a covenant he's entered into
such mastery save me it doesn't him
halfway up another river the Lostine

trout lacquer over calico stone
early sparrow calls us together
into the tent which I zip up in one motion

yearling sets deer-heel
down in payment on flattest moss
like any river its job is to take away