Tennis Thoughts on Love:
There seems to be no advantage to playing on.
Nothing in my life is set, no net gain in my social scene.
My heart wounds are not mortal, but they will serve.
I can’t fault anyone but myself for missed chances.
I am convinced from playing so many times
love means nothing at all –
comes from the French l’oeuf, you know,
which roughly translates to “goose egg.”
Love consists of nothing but lucky bounces.
But regardless, I hack away, fearful
of finding myself alone, playing singles forever.
I am twisting and spinning, trying to place my shots,
15, 30, 40, game –
life segmented into almost regular quarters.
I’d like to find a suitable doubles partner,
one who will understand the parameters of my game,
one who will applaud my winning ways,
one who will court me in style.
Oh, where or when will I find such a perfect match?