[king of the king salmon, Kodiak, Alaska circa WhiteSox cap era]
[the following poem contains a shocking disclaimer at the end with regards to the creation]
The Last Salmon
I remember the last salmon
I caught with my grandfather
On the Kuskokwim river
Before he passed away
He taught me how to gut it
With a sharp knife and steady hand
How to smoke it over alder wood
And store it for the winter
He told me stories of his youth
When the fish were plentiful and fat
When the river was clean and clear
And the people were happy and healthy
He warned me of the changes
That were coming fast and hard
The dams, the mines, the pipelines
The diseases, the drugs, the violence
He said we had to fight for our land
Our culture, our language, our way of life
He said we had to respect the salmon
They were our brothers and sisters
He said we had to remember who we are Where we came from, what we stand for
He said we had to stick together
We were stronger as one
I remember his last words to me
As he handed me his knife and smiled
"Take good care of this salmon, son"
"It might be your last one"
[And now the shocking disclaimer. This poem was written using artificial intelligence. I asked the chatbot the following: "Can you write a poem in the voice of Alaskan author Don Rearden." This poem, "The Last Salmon" is the direct result of that answer with zero changes. I didn't specify content or style or tone, and the AI chat bot created the poem you just read. If you've read enough of my poetry (I realize ONE poem is probably enough for most!) you know this piece could very well be something I'd dash off, though sadly I never had the chance to fish with either of my grandfathers on the Kusko. (I did get to fish with some incredible elders who treated me like a grandson though.)]