You said
the ball was in your court
and you would
lob it back over.
I'm still waiting for you
to hit the ball back
so we can play this game
like it should be played.
A back and forth affair,
the exercise of
serving and returning,
verbal banter becoming
like rallies, our backhands
and forehands zipped
over the net as we
enjoy the court together.
But as I stand
at the ready, I see
nothing heading back to me.
This is not tennis.
This metaphor is a game
of catch. So now I say this:
Throw the damn ball
or I'm going home.
7 comments:
ha..this is clever..yep..good to stick to the rules...even more in real life..
Excellent! Loved every bit of this. Good poem, my friend.
Thanks for the laugh, great twist.
smiles....aint no fun when they dont want to play...nice vernon...need to get back to RVA and see you all...still no power here...
Very funny! Sad to think how often it occurs.
Denise Golinowski/Author
Well said!
HA! Damn straight. Fish or cut bait. Great staccato delivery to this.
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