for an hour or so,
he tells meabout his golf game.
how his swing is off.
slicing
every ball into the woods.
short with the iron, sending
the little white
ball into the sand trap.
even
his once reliable putting stroke
has a kink
in the swing.
he tells me how the greens
are too fast
the approach too soft.
how the front nine
is easier
than the back.
i need a new set of clubs,
and maybe i shouldn't drink
as much when i golf,
then he taps
me on my knee
and says, hey, aren't you
listening, wake up.
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