My poem was describing that summer when the narrator cares only about fishing and Sheila Mant, but Sheila Mant never even notices him, even if he does laps and flips in the water. Everytime he sees her, she seemed out of reach, she seemed so peaceful that anybody that gets close to her knew that she was not to be disturbed. After he asked her out, she said:”I think fishing’s dumb, definitely dumb.” Just then, he saw a huge fish that was in the water, but he did not want her to think that he was dumb. In his mind, he was choosing: Sheila or Fish. One was tantalizing, one was awesome.