The Ball Poem by JAMES T. ADAIR

He looks down at the ball on the tee
squares his shoulders toward the hole
some 400 yards away
shifts his weight to his right foot
as he moves the club back upon an invisible plane
a smooth coiling motion felt in his torso and shoulders and legs
at a moment in the back swing...in a mystical point of suspended time
before releasing the tension and swinging down at the ball
in an empty area of his heart that only she has touched
with her gentleness and serenity
he feels her missing...like a great void that he cannot make go away
realizing the futility and the sadness
he releases the club
his torso uncoils as his arms and hands move the club quickly and smoothly toward the ball
his weight shifts from the right foot to the left as he drives through the ball
the titanium face of the club glides across the top of the green moist grass with great velocity
and strikes the plastic face of the golf ball with its angled surface and compresses it and misshapes it
the ball can't resist the forces meeting and has nothing to to but to be propelled forward
It backspins as it rockets through the air in an arching right to left fashion
and drops with a thud to the soft fairway grass some 250 yards away
he flashes a brief smile of mixed emotions
he feels lost
and even a beautiful day and fresh air pales to his thoughts of her
as he is half here and half with her

© James T. Adair