~Wednesday Night Tennis People~
Heading to the Green Center
to play tennis with people
older than my parents.
What a thrill to see friends
playing and serving and aging
all in the name of the little yellow ball.
Familiar faces, hugs, and welcomes
from the permanent court people.
Tonight I am a substitute player paired
twice with an opposite gender partner.
“I don’t like to lose,” he tells me,“so don’t mess up.”
I hear this every time we play together.
Across the net the composite age
is about 160. We are only 105.
I assure my white, wiry-haired partner we will win.
The pop of the sound of tennis balls fills
my head for the next hour and a half. Shouts hailing
my brilliance come as often as the words
“waaaaayyyyy out,” when the ball just misses the line.
Nothing is too serious until we are down in score.
Tense serves and tennis chatter between the partners
brings the players in the present. We win,
because we don’t lose.
Partners change when eight people play
on two courts. The winning teams pair up
and exchange partners while the two losing teams
do the same. There is no shame in position with
the Wednesday Night Tennis People. All win,
because they don’t lose.
Point, Game, Set, Match. Court time over.
Off to Murry’s, the restaurant where a table
is waiting for the Tennis People to imbibe.
[x] Love
ReplyDeleteThank YOU! I wrote this today in about 15 minutes. It's one of my first poems in years and years and I was very nervous to post it but looking to build my courage in writing of all types. xoxo
ReplyDeleteYou certainly wrote a wonderful poem Annie! Tennis is one of the games that I wish I was able to play! Take care.
ReplyDeleteHello again Annie,
ReplyDeleteI like your Blog and therefore I am happy to pass on the Blog On Fire Award to you. You can see the details on my Blog. Keep on writing great posts and my best wishes to you.
Judy
Here's the tennis poem I promised to share with you. I wrote it about 10 years ago as you can tell from the players I wrote about.
ReplyDeleteI'm playing this week with my son, Ben. I can't wait.
xoxo Madeline
Watching Tennis in August
The sexy, buff girls of tennis come every August
To play their game in Manhattan Beach
Champions all of them
They love the crowds
They thrive on the electricity, the adoration of their fans
The shouts:
We love you Monica, Come on, Martina,
You can do it Serena, Lindsey
The groans over a ball slammed into the net
The oohs and ahs during a long rally
The cheers when a winning ball skims the line.
They all have their own style
Number 1, Martina Hingis, named for the great Navratilova,
Looks delicate, graceful and aloof out there,
Always with a wide, toothy smile
Hair smoothed back just so
Has a shrewd strategy
That out lasts most of her opponents
Now sleek sans 30 pounds,
Lindsey Davenport, the nice girl on the tour
Looking tall and gangly and awkward
Fools us with her
Killer serve, hard, fast, flat ground strokes and a bullet volley
That almost no one can return
Monica Seles, the come back kid.
Is the ultimate professional
So poised, so focused with her eyes
Always on her racket
Fingers plucking at the strings
Until it’s time to make one of her perfect angle shots
No opponent can reach
And the youngster of the greats,
Serena Williams, still making a fashion statement with her long
Rodman style braids, wild-colored short dresses with shoes to match
Struts confidently around the court,
Wiggling her ass and jiggling her boobs
As she gets ready for the next point
But she is not all show
She knows how to really rip those balls across the net
Leaving her opponents swishing their rackets at the air.
I sit there for one week
Every year in August
In my second-row box seat.
Eyes glued to the stadium court
Sweltering under the sun during the day
Slathered in sun block and wearing my wide-brimmed straw hat
While shivering beneath my lap robe during
Night play under the lights
I revel in the circus, this happening scene
Taking such joy as these young, beautiful, toned, athletic girls
In their clingy short skirts, tight tops and designer jewelry
Hit the hell out of that little fuzzy yellow ball.
Madeline, i love this poem and the last line is perhaps my favorite! great mini character sketches of these great players. We are definitely "Tennis People" every day of the week! thanks for sharing.
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