My balls keep rolling out like
quail-sized eggs toward a buried cup.
They slither while they pass
They slip away, away from where I’d hoped.
Pools of sorrow waves of joy
are drifting through my G & T
Possessing and caressing me.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Images of broken tees which
dance before me like a million carts
or cosmic holes-in-one across the universe.
The caddy, our driver, short-sighted, meanders
like a damaged bat inside a hamster ball
we tumble blindly as
we make our way across the golf course.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
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