Ode to a Dead Salmon contest - our finalists

The judges have decided! Here at last are the three finalists from this year’s run of the best in bad prose and poetry. Thank you to everyone who took up the challenge and sent us their cleverly contrived entries – we certainly had a lot of fun reading them and hope you did too – all entries are posted at the Ode to a Dead Salmon blog. Congratulations to our two finalists, the pseudonymous “Sam N. Cook” and Lee Goodman for entering into the spirit of the occasion so well. And thank you to our two judges, Nancy Lord and Bill Sherwonit, who graciously reprised their roles as Alaska’s arbiters of tongue-in-cheek literary bad taste.

We have been unable to set up a poll link, so please email your choice to 49writers@gmail.com. All voting will be held in strictest confidence. The winner will be announced here and on the Ode to a Dead Salmon blog on Monday, August 13.

One fish,
two fish, red fish, more red fish

By “Sam N.
Cook”

Cooler of
blue

salmon of
red

Now
they’re alive,

soon
they’ll be dead.

Blood lust
be howlin’

under the
clouds

Our
neighboring netters

are
boisterous and loud.

It’s not
yet eleven

but that
one dude is drunk

and
hollering at me

to come
check out his trunk

full of
fish I should envy

but I
cannot go near

‘cuz it’s
way too early

to smell
that much beer.

Veering
away

toward my
friends and our nets

How is it
possible,

I think
with regret,

twenty
years an Alaskan

but first
time dipnetting.

It’s a
regional ritual

I’m
finally getting.

An hour
and a half and

we’re
already done

with ten
fish for the two of us.

But the
fun’s just begun.

Did I
mention I did not

grow up
around fish,

nor
gutting, nor cleaning,

and hours
later I wish

we had
just stopped at five.

But we’re
not that bright,

so we two
first-timers

were up
late that night.

Would I do
it again?

In a
heartbeat I’m thinking,

but next
time around,

I too will
be drinking.

—

Ode to a Dead Salmon 1

By Lee Goodman

A salmon that rots in the silt

Is like Onan whose seed would soon wilt.

Onan wanted no lads,

But the fish wanted scads,

So into the silt both spilt milt.

—

Ode to a
Dead Salmon 2

By Lee
Goodman

I love salmon, I said with a smile,
Not knowing this fish had turned vile
So appetite whetted,
I ate what was fetid
And barfed till I only had bile.

—

Ode to a Dead Salmon contest – our finalists

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