One HookAuthor(s): Ronald WallaceSource: The Iowa Review, Vol. 4, No. 4 (Fall, 1973), p. 6Published by: University of IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20158093 .

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ONE HOOK

I knew it was too late

when these blue fish

moved coolly out of the painting. Klee, what have we done? I said.

But he was fishing, madly fishing* Make hooks, he said.

Some of the fish slipped smoothly into the cunts of little girls. Some hung ties around their necks

and worked for IBM.

Some raised hard fins

and swam on highways, fishmouths honking like horns.

And everything they touched turned

to fish.

T?he stars wore slime, the moon grew gills, trees darted quickly away in schools.

They ate the grass, the weeds, the people like kelp, and laid their eggs.

While sturgeons in white gowns came out to round us up.

Klee! Klee! I said. What is happening? What do we do? But he was fishing,

madly fishing. Make hooks, he said.

This content downloaded from 185.2.32.110 on Fri, 13 Jun 2014 13:40:13 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions