It’s not a game <br />like any other game <br />where a golf ball travels the distance <br />and being putted into a hole <br />it is only a small white ball <br />being lured into a hole <br />dark and full of deception <br />have you ever wondered <br />why the ball is never black? <br />the hands that hold the putter <br />take a firm grip in a certain art form <br />there is positional assurance <br />before teeing <br />and these very hands <br />network with the mind <br />in continuance they play <br />vicariously with the heart <br />and when the world <br />is minding its own course <br />and waiting for another PGA tournament, <br />the greenery is overshadowed <br />like a transgressor <br />the golfer becomes an infidel <br />drunk like a kite in the wind <br />moaning in apology <br />with numbness on his lips <br />making a hiatus <br />wider than the golf course <br />how to fine tune this art <br />with family blunted by fame? <br />and fortune? <br />and deception?<br /><br />Leonard Dabydeen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-art-of-deception/
