Tennis Words Poem by Cynthia Buhain-baello

I am not good at playing tennis
With words, the ones that come and go
To spite and hurt and do not miss
The pain they cause, they grow.

Each hit strikes harder, getting even-
Quick at the serve and the vain return,
Cuts deeper with every bounce and then
The pain is scored as Anger burns.

Tennis words keep coming back
A futile exchange no one can win
The gap grows wide and we lose track
Of the reasons we play them again and again.

Copyright ~~~~Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~~08.05.13