Fishing On The Susquehanna In July by Billy Collins

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.

I like this poem a lot because it talks about how he imagines fishing on the Susquehanna. I really enjoy fishing in the summer, so i can relate to this. Collins also uses a lot of imagery to convey the scene and paint a mental picture.