Hello Poetry,
Classics
Words
Blog
F.A.Q.
About
Contact
Guidelines
© 2024 HePo
by
Eliot
Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads.
Become a member
Dave Hardin
Poems
Apr 2017
Racquetball
Years after giving up the game
for good I still dream of turning
up late to a match juggling
a chipped red racquet,
high-impact lenses,
salt tanned right hand
glove and two
blue ***** fresh in the can,
my dream court receding
down darkened halls,
a warren of identical doors,
portholes slashing avocado
carpet with watery cross ties,
florescent flickers that merge and pool,
flushing me into flat light within
a stark white cube to toe the red
service line once again
only to find my forehand
serve impeded by jumbled
tables, five drawer files, armoires, roll top desks and bureaus
arranged into the crooked lane plat of medieval Bruges.
Racquetball,
a game of angles
gone sadly out of fashion,
the MacGuffin in my dreams,
as it was in my playing days
when you were my true opponent,
King of Center Court running me,
stroking passing shots, methodical
while I hurled myself heedless
headlong into walls, losing on points,
nursing trophies of bruises.
Written by
Dave Hardin
Michigan
(Michigan)
Follow
😀
😂
😍
😊
😌
🤯
🤓
💪
🤔
😕
😨
🤤
🙁
😢
😭
🤬
0
320
Jeff Stier
Please
log in
to view and add comments on poems