Ode to the Fanatical Golfer by Kevin D. Rolle - HTML preview

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’Ruff’ Day

In secret the rules he would often bend,
From his mind, a rationalization he would lend. To him, the means justified the end.
Like the fiercest warrior, his handicap must he defend!

Into his ‘golf life’, sand traps would ‘rain’. Bogies ‘rolled in’, like some ghastly train! Cancelling out any birdies he’d gained, Another golf game he sighed, “Oh, the pain!”

Shuffling into his house, his face fell…it tapered. His wife smirked, “You lost, didn’t you?” (Imagining the caper.
With an outstretched hand that ‘said’, “Pay her!”, Into her purse his $20 went. (It vanished like a vapor).

”No dinner for me, thanks. I’m heading in early.” ”Awwww! It’s just a game,” she said. “No need to be surly.
”I’m not!, he said. “I need to rise early”
”Suuuure!,” she said. “You and the proverbial birdie!”

He took a shower to wash away the day. It didn’t help much. That golf game would ‘stay’! His spirits were lifted, though, when he thought, “But hey!”
And dancing with his wife saying, “Tomorrow’s another GOLF DAY!