He couldn’t escape it. They all pointed the finger. He would have to tread lightly. (Have to be ginger). This wouldn’t go away. (The bad taste, would linger). His reputation changed. (Credibility injured).
To the exit of the golf course, they all wanted him to march.
”C’mon! Move it soldier!” (Like his pants had starch! He couldn’t back-talk them. (His throat was parched). Head bent; eyes down; back arched.
Through all this shame, he had to wade.
To make this day disappear, he’d have gladly paid! He couldn’t believe, the mistake he’d made But the fault, at his feet, was clearly laid.
It was a vicious ‘meal’ he was forced to ‘sup’ Like bitter herbs, from a great big cup. He had to face it…had to suck it up
It made his soul ‘shiver’, like an orphaned pup.
He was depressed. (His spirit forlorn).
Despite a brave front, facial expression mourned. His self-esteem dried up like last week’s corn It’s silky hair blown away. (Not one left. Gone!)