The Hacker - Poem by Greg Costello
The hacker sets out in deep concentration,
But golf shots soon turn to excavation.
Staring glumly at cavernous divots,
No textbook technique, but reverse pivots-
They endure this torment for eighteen holes,
Feel guilty for all the evicted moles.
Into the clubhouse to glance at the card,
Which has been strangely, by high numbers marred.
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