Mind cleaning day

He feels the end of the shaft with his fingers, much like how a spider's legs seem independent but with a singular purpose.
 Just a few practice strokes as he anticipates his date with a lovely woman later in the evening.

His hands however, don't seem to be able to find the right grip.
So he keeps moving them up and down,
 seeking the perfect place to hold the steely rod.

He suddenly becomes distracted, wondering if anyone is watching.
Then he notices how dry and rough the skin of his palms have become,
and he finds himself wishing he had brought lotion.

Concentrating again on his purpose; his mind agonizes his discomfort in bringing his task to fruition.
The grip's not satisfying... His body feels too limp... Is he using the right ball?

With all of this distraction he remembers to focus his thoughts on the little hole that will recieve the package he intends to send it;
a technique he learned from his father as a young boy.

There it is! Now he's got it! And he feels the previously lackluster life in his body becoming more ridgid as his mind's eye conjures the small hole surrounded by neatly trimmed boscage.

But now there's a little TOO much tension, so he wiggles his buttox to get just the right angle for the shot and free the anxst...
He doesn't want to make a mess of it that will require clean-up.

Now, the grip and the stroke feel just right as his body twists to move the ball into position.The anticipation builds; slowly at first, but then keeps increasing as the task nears it's climax.

It hangs on the edge for a glorious moment, seeming to tease him into uncontrolled frenzy seeking relief, teetering in some never-ending ballet in some surreal dimension forever... then plop.

He hadn't noticed the beads of sweat on his brow until the breeze told him they were there.
And now relaxed... even drained... he finds himself wishing that people HAD been watching.

After all... a successful putt from the far edge of the green is a beautiful sight to behold.

Copyright 2012 William Klauck