Boom Boom
Betty, 88; stops the game,
raises
one wet finger, stills; checks the wind,
tips her
hat, grins; swings her string,
and picks
up her hot golden ball
on a
dangling silver magnet; walks, limps a bit,
reins in
the distance down the court,
steps
into the loop, stoops, aims,
and
Boom!!! Boom Boom Betty fires her shot:
“Tirez!”
cheers the crowd, busy,
“Bravo
Betty!” the spectators sport
as a
galaxy of balls circling the Jack,
split,
knocking the little wooden Cochonnet
into the
pit. Snags a shell, hopscotches
the
scorched path, yells, plops over
the
cliff, and hits the shock of ice-cold sea.
“What a
shot!” says the Cochonnet, stunned,
“What a
blast” says the Crowd; all sound,
“What a
shooter” frowns the Cochonnet;
winks,
drinks tea in the underwater gallery,
drowns.
Takes a deep breath, rebounds.
Impasse:
The Game On the Ground.
All
still, last shot, Pot Shot Pointer goes for
the roll;
stands, tennis before the serve,
in a
circle chalked; the boardwalks hush.
12 All -
match point stuff – poised. All
surveyed,
the game played, Pot Shot stands,
quiet and
dazed; eyes trance, last chance,
to the
left or to the right? Avoid the bounce,
trip the
hum of the restless crowd; Quiet
now. Head
bowed. No sound. Prays...
the
middle way. Hush; come to my arms
"Two
cheese and pickle and a cup of tea,
Please,"
Pot Shot Pointer gets the roll, tea
hot,
hears the news, hears the shots. Loud.
The Crowd
Falls. And from the Speaker:
"Pick
up your belongings from the Lost and
Found."
Impasse: The Game on the Ground.
2007
