as she begins to tell me
about her golf game.
going hole by hole.
the greens, the fairway,
the sand traps.
the front, then back nine.
how the sun was in her eyes,
the wind.
the slow group ahead of her.
she just bought a new putter
to go along with
her new set of woods.
she shakes my arm, as i doze off,
are you listening?
do you ever play golf. you should
play with us sometime.
no, i tell her, shaking my head
and stretching,
wiping the sand from my eyes.
i always have trouble
with the windmill, my ball gets
stuck in there every time.
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