The Fourteenth Hole

Early one midwest Autumn day,
I went golfing with my wife,
Instead of having fun at play,
I almost lost my life,

We teed off on the back nine,
Started bad and just got worse,
We carted up to hole fourteen,
Then began to swing rehearse,

Two hundred yard drive to a ninety foot bluff,
Unless I end up in the rough,
Then seven iron and two putts I hope,
The fence on the cliff, two posts and a rope,

I drove the ball and that went well,
When driving the cart, things went to hell,
I crested the slope but didn't see,
Mother nature had another plan for me,

Accelerating with my foot off the gas,
Brake locked wheels, wet leaves and grass,
As I spun backward, I thought to myself,
I'm not gonna die falling off this shelf,

I leaped from the cart and landed in the dirt,
It ran over my ankles which kind of hurt,
The rope caught a wheel, the posts were bent,
Before I could stand, off the cliff it went,

I said to my wife, doesn't that beat all,
I lost my cart but I found my ball,
I didn't make par, that's my loss,
My cart made birdie, eagle, albatross,

I haven't golfed since, I've no desire,
I sold my clubs to the highest buyer,
As for my poem, no need to linger,
I tried golf, I give golf the finger.

Anthony Kastantin