A Fish Story

Mazatlán – back in days gone by when I could actually, occasionally, get out of bed at 6:00 AM and allowed, more often than now, my basic philosophical convictions to become thwarted by testosterone. Early… God, I hate early… …but some things… are worth wakin’ up for. Five-thirty glow and Caribbean eyes, Sun still hidin’, barely a sky, She smiled like trouble I couldn’t refuse — Said “we’re goin’ fishin’… put on your shoes.” Tangled hair and a tan-line grace, Morning light on a sun-kissed face, I thought ‘bout sleep… then changed my thoughts — Old fishing boat waitin’ at the Mazatlán docks. Didn’t want the boat… didn’t want the fishing line… But she wanted to go… so that was enough this time. It’s a fish story out on the Sea of Cortés, Salt in the air and a slow sunrise haze, Half for the ocean, half for the girl — Just driftin’ somewhere between two worlds. Cold beer stowed in a bucket of ice, Right and wrong ain’t always precise, Sometimes you go where you said you wouldn’t be — Out chasin’ somethin’… out on the sea. Ramp creakin’ down to a tired old boat, Paint all cracked but somehow afloat, Engines coughin’ up diesel smoke — I laughed it off like a half-good joke. Seen those docks in another light, Big dead marlin hangin’ there in the night, Tourists smilin’ like they’d won a war — I never could figure what the killing was for. There’s a difference between hunger… and killin’ for show… And somewhere inside… I already know… It’s a fish story out on the Sea of Cortés, Beauty below and a hook in the haze, Lines in the water, lines in my head — Tryin’ to sort out what’s livin’ and dead. Engines hummin’, horizon wide, Truth and cerveza both along for the ride, Sometimes you feel what you can’t quite say — But you go anyway… you go anyway. She don’t need mirrors, don’t need a show, Sunlight does everything she needs to glow, Laughs like a breeze in the morning heat Gotta have a cold beer, then maybe repeat Rolled that bottle slow on her skin, Crew looked once… then looked away again And I just smiled like a fool at sea — Thinkin’ I’m lucky to be me. Twenty minutes… or two hours long, Depends who’s tellin’ the fisherman’s song, She pulled it in — silver, strong — And suddenly everything felt… wrong. Deck went quiet when it hit the wood, Not the victory we thought it would, Sailfish moved slow in a silent fight — And somethin’ in us didn’t feel right. You can call it nerves… you can call it fate… But you don’t forget… when you hesitate. It’s a fish story out on the Sea of Cortés, Lessons don’t come, just because someone says We came for the thrill… we left with a truth — Some things get clearer… when you lose your youth. Salt on the skin and sun in decline, Grateful for the meal… but aware of the line, Between takin’ life… and understandin’ why — Under that big blue Mazatlán sky. Everythin’ livin’ tied together somehow, From the smallest spark to the here and now, You take, you give, you try to see — What it means… to just live, and be. Pancho smiled, took the catch out back, Said “see you at eight,” like a well-known fact, Cold beer sweatin’ in the afternoon shade — Somehow the world felt gently remade. She took my hand, soft and slow — Said “I don’t think I’d do that again, you know…” I nodded once, didn’t need to speak — Some truths don’t need cryptic critique. It’s a fish story down in Mazatlán, Part of the ocean, part of the plan, You live, you learn, you drift, you see — What matters ain’t always what it seems to be. Raise a glass to the life we take, And the love we find and the choices we make, If you listen close to the tide and the breeze — It’ll tell you all you need. Yeah… we thanked that fish… …even if nobody heard us.