Fishing on the Susquehanna in July

I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna Or on any river for that matter To be perfectly honest Not in July or any month Have I had the pleasure--if it is a pleasure-- Of fishing on the Susquehanna I am more likely to be found In a quiet room like this one-- A painting of a woman on the wall A bowl of tangerines on the table-- Trying to manufacture the sensation Of fishing on the Susquehanna There is little doubt That others have been fishing On the Susquehanna Rowing upstream in a wooden boat Sliding the oars under the water Then raising them to drip in the light But the nearest I have ever come to Fishing on the Susquehanna Was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia When I balanced a little egg of time In front of a painting In which that river curled around a bend Under a blue cloud-ruffled sky Dense trees along the banks And a fellow with a red bandanna Sitting in a small, green Flat-bottom boat Holding the thin whip of a pole That is something I am unlikely Ever to do, I remember Saying to myself and the person next to me Then I blinked and moved on To other American scenes Of haystacks, water whitening over rocks Even one of a brown hare Who seemed so wired with alertness I imagined him springing right out of the frame