the little white ball

my friend loves to
play golf.
and even more than
playing, he loves
to talk about golf,
or watch it on tv.
he loves to yell
out 'in the hole,
tiger', which i make
absolutely no
comment about, but he'll
ramble on and on
for hours about
the greens,
the fees, the wedges,
the front nine,
the back nine, how
his swing is off
and the ball keeps
landing off
the fairway, into
the rough, a bunker,
or worse into a sand
trap. his eyes are
happy and bright while
he talks about his
day, his score,
his handicap,
while mine glaze over.
and his sunburned face
except for the stripe
where his
sunglasses were
is all smiles
as he stands up to
demonstrate his new
swing, his stance
for putting, how he
keeps his elbow straight
and tight,and how
he bends his knees
just so, just right.
he tells me that
i need to take up
this noble game,
i must begin my golfing
life. it's going to
be a long long night.