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Gurry, guts, and halibut, a poem by fisherpoet Becky Haun

Becky Haun, fisherpoet.
Becky Haun, fisherpoet.

 

Gurry, guts, and halibut

 

by becky kay haun in honor of the DECKHAND, male or female

 

Gurry, guts, and halibut

No shower for a week.

Sand fleas in my belly button,

I’m too tired to eat or sleep.

 

My wool socks stand in the corner.

My long johns have faded green.

Gurry, guts, and halibut

Smells like money in my dreams.

 

Clad in boots deemed extra tuff

And rain gear from head to toe,

The crew chats as they bait the gear

Through rain and fog and snow!

 

While coiling line and sharpening hooks

They share endless tales from the past,

Making splicing line and cleaning slime

Become eventful sort of tasks.

 

Once out at sea and in full swing

Life seems to pass us by.

We never know the day of the week

And never care or wonder why!

 

Dressed in our fisherman tuxedo

With salt water dripping from our nose,

We figure one more set like that last one

And we will all be smelling like a rose!

 

Gurry, guts, and halibut,

The smell of money is in the air.

So shoot the skates and bait some more

For we are almost halfway there.

 

“Gurry, guts, and halibut,”

The crew chants until the trip is through.

Clad in our fisherman tuxedo,

We are the best dressed halibut crew.

 

Quality Seafood
Fresh Halibut.