Jeu De Paume, Anyone? Iii - Poem by Morgan Michaels
You had to rent shoes and balls, there were no exceptions, except for people who were frequent bowlers and had their own. From the stacks I chose one that seemed awfully heavy, but reasoned extra weight might provide extra clout and so knock down more pins than a lighter. It seemed right. Then Diotima chose. Her fingers seemed to fit everything she tried- a fact she attributed, mysteriously, to 'flexibility.' She finally made a selection based, sensibly, on appearance alone. The ball she chose was blue, semi-translucent and marbled like a cake. Balls are sized like shoes or hats. There is a seven and 1/4, an eight, and so on. We lugged ours to an alley near the end, where there was privacy, and set them on a rubber-lined track. The game began. Every desk was equipped with a bag of sawdust, which you could sprinkle on the floorboards. In this way, one set the 'slide' factor. I sprinkled enough sawdust for a dance floor and, winding up, rolled my first shot. Deflected by sawdust, the ball skidded into the gutter. A second followed its lead.
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