Golf

An Epic Poem by Faith Richards and Gina Torgerson

                        You drive onto the green in your golf cart

                        And feel the nervous flutt’rings of your heart,

                        Climb out and from your golf bag take a wood.

                        You think that make a hole-in-one you could.

                        You take up your position by the tee,

                        Prepare to swing with slightly bended knee.

                        You move your hands so that your thumbs are crossed

                        Because, if not, your game is surely lost.

                        You swing the club and then the ball goes far.

                        It flies into the lot and hits a car;

                        Contact is made and the front window breaks -

                        A horrible shattèring sound it makes.

                        A friend of yours looks up and loud he cries:

                        “Do you know play the ball right where it lies?”

                        You don’t know, so you take out your golf book

                        And tell your friend, “Well, let’s just take a look.”

                        You rècall that there was a coffee stain

                        And that the ink was washed away by rain,

                        So since the rule is gone you make the call

                        And go and fetch yourself another ball.

March 12, 2001

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