I don't know how to catch a tiddler,
Let alone a mighty tuna;
The thought of fighting with a fish
Just makes me dive beneath the doona.
But I felt exhilaration
When I chanced to see this sign;
For a second the excitement
Was positively mine.
I've seen them on the TV screen,
Battling with a line,
Straining every fibre
With a creature serpentine.
'Game Fish'! There's a title,
A really thrilling name,
For it seems the mighty fish
Are definitely 'game'.
They battle to the very last
To stay in their habitat,
Fighting with a human
From Moree or Ballarat.
In one way it is cruel;
They are not killed for food.
But on that day at Port Stephens
I was in a different mood.
I pictured myself as Mark Lidwill,
Whose name is on the sign,
And just for the briefest moment,
His way of life met mine.
I bequeath to you my genes,
(You know who I'm talking to),
Though I've no say in the final mix
I shall pass-on to you.
You and others down the line
Will mix and match and merge
Until my genes are a tiny part
Of babies that will emerge.
If only you could choose the bits
To save or cast-away,
But genetics cannot be controlled;
Life doesn't work that way.
In the future Science may allow
Lady Luck to be defied
But, by that time, my little 'bits'
Will have scattered far and wide.
In the here and now it's a lottery
In which we're all involved,
And it's been that way since the dawn of time,
When this old earth first evolved.
So I live in the hope my substandard genes
May fall by the wayside soon;
My 'no sense of direction' gene
Has never been a boon!
The 'double-chin' gene is a wretched one
That has made me feel non-plussed;
And the gene for 'taking offense' is one
That should certainly bite the dust.
But I hope the gene for 'love of words'
Goes on and on and on.
And the gene for 'wild enthusiasm'.....
I'd be sad if that were gone.
The gene for 'long life' ...... there's a gem
That I'd love to bequeath to you.
Good luck with my genes in the future!
(You know who I'm talking to.)