You were the mirror I used to see myself in

It was harsh,
It was cruel,
It wasn't beautiful,
You leave me at the end of the road, alone.

It was agonizing,
It was ruthless,
It wasn't perfect,
You took a detour, leaving me at the sahara, alone.

I was stranded,
Unable to walk nor crawl,
As I laid on the burning sand of the desert  i stared into the sun, hoping it will take my sight away and drain this well of love i have dug for you.

I did not ask for much,
I just want to be loved.

Nakanai,
I am tough,
Hard as a rock,
Unshakeable,
Nakanai,
Nakanai,
And i cried.

I went into the pro shop
Paid my fees and turned to leave
The man behind the counter said
"you're new here...I believe"

I said I'd never played here
He said "there's things that you should know"
"I'll grab us both a coffee"
"Listen close...before you go"

"The first two holes are easy"
"nothing there gets in the way"
"no bunkers, and no water"
"just the way to start the day"

"It gets tougher on the third hole"
"There's some birds up in the trees"
"They buzz you while you're putting"
"Remember...birds on three"

"The fourth hole is a dog leg"
"It has a river on the right"
'Avoid the yellow caution tape"
"We had a drowning there last night"

I swallowed hard and stared back
"A drowning out on four"
"That's right" he said "don't worry"
"At least it's not the wild boar"

"The WILD BOAR?" I said aloud
He said "he's on five through seven"
"Don't worry much on those holes"
"He's been sighted on eleven"

"The eighth is fairy simple"
"A par three that you can reach"
"Water moccasins in the swamp"
"And lots of spiders in the beach"

"The greens are all receptive"
"They hold well, just come in high"
'But, land is short...there's quicksand"
"So...go in there...you die"

"you make the turn, and grab a dog"
"I give them out for free"
"The owner says it's wasteful"
"But, I say...just let it be"

"The tenth hole is a par five"
"It' one to reach in two"
"But if you put it out of bounds"
"I'd leave it...if I were you"

"you know about the wild boar"
"so eleven gets a pass"
"he's got some bite, that sumbitch"
"He might gore you in the ***"

"Now twelve...is quite a pickle"
"I'll tell you watch out now.....not later"
"We have a situation there"
"It's fairway's full of gator"

"What the hell is that you say"
"There's a gator out there then"
"Today there is but somedays son"
"You can meet as much as ten"

"You must be mad" I yelled at him
"I'm leaving...I'll not play"
"on a course so full of danger"
"There's no way...just no way"

I asked him for a refund
he pointed up above his head
"no refunds, only rainchecks"
"and then only if you're dead"

I sacrificed my forty bucks
And left, out to my car
The pro just sat and smiled
"I've scared off thirty one so far"

I know I'll not return here
not with friends or by myself
not with spiders in the bunkers
Or gators on the twelfth.

Looking at the ground,
She sees more beauty
Than she ever could have
If she had looked up.

Eyes trained on her on her toes,
She understands,
Beauty is in the person
Who is seeing.

And her beauty
Is just a little
Different
Than everyone else's.

The cars hiss by on the wet pavement
You stand and watch, invisible, still, and quiet.
A raindrop hits your nose and rolls off the steep cliff of your bottom lip

There's a dog, jogging past on soft paws
Water arches behind it's wagging tail
Wet fur sways under its belly

The sky is splitting above you
Lightning unaware that you are standing in the exact spot
It would like to strike

But you move a foot to your left
And it continues on with its angry rumblings
A continuous murmur in the clouds

People pass by and look startled your way
Because their shoulder happened to greet yours
But what they cannot see they fear

And the night descends as you stand on the bustling street corner
The shops close down and the lights dim to accommodate the darkness
And you stand invisible, still, and quiet.

Determined to have left by half-eight,
cats fed and plates away,
they were late.

This raconteur of the recce,
part time life model to Rosetti (among others)
had corralled cagoules onto arms,
thrown shoes their way, warmed up the car,
had marched across driveways, crossings, marshlands to playgrounds
and so far had lost none.

This was him without coffee, a fifth of his repertoire,
and they weren’t even his sons.