Golf and Weeds

     how golf and weeds got me started

the day emerged 

with the usual

a round of golf 

fervently played 

with amateur gusto

then on to the weed attack

the chore for the season

the weeds free and wild

the tractor stubborn and noisy

we find ourselves involved

what ever it is we do

we do and do again year after year

we find loquats for free

come and pick ganesha said

and a computer desk

asking for a new home

african music entertains and energizes

vivid with a human beat

while the desk finds it place

loquats find a glassy home

we dive for golf balls

or write a poem

the african music just keeps coming

the images keep flowing

putting a period on a sentence

the friends of the buddha

call and ask

are you here

can you hear

do you care

high school comes roaring out of the past

flying high on mildewed gym socks 

and worn jock straps

and the glare and anger

of the boys dean

deadly serious and uncompromising

the covered walks and railings

where we sat and watched 

the world and the girls go by

commenting yet not participating

except the golf team 

a working class effort

of rusty putters and pathetic egos

the revered coach dead you found

after a search

and junior varsity basketball

you made one from the corner

everyone gasped

because you seemed so uncertain

about a shot you could make

yet not convinced

the racist teacher 

commenting on mexicans

tearing and ripping

a brain splattered on the rocks

the sea washing it clean by now

a long gone ghost

haunted maybe by attitudes and beliefs 

tainted by the habits of 

long lost monks and nuns

the flag flying on the card

in the corner and on the pole

would you ever get it

now 50 years later

baskets are easy

golf shots a breeze

the evening quiets

limbs go slack

a tree whispers breezily

a cat lurks in the weeds

buffered by the memories of birds and gophers

like everything else

it needs its place to rest after eating

a place of repose 

a place to finally call an end

of the hunt and the worry