Tennis

The back and forth is what keeps me alive,

My want to win; forces pressure to thrive.

The racket becomes an extension of me,

my tool with which I prove completely,

that I'm here to win and gain respect,

completely against the 'in the knows' preselect.

Defying the odds; my forehand lays waste,

entirely exceeding my projected place.

They inhale and their eyes embody shock,

this underachiever has arrived to rock,

their fruity little club... to it's foundations.

I'm champion of sorts but not how it seems,

I haven't just played impressively at queens.

My racket's my hope, my pride and belief,

my opponent my life, revealed as a thief.

Taking my dreams and crushing them, dead.

But with two strong sets it's weak in my head.

One more to go... just one last push...

Time...

Reviews

[Cheryl J. Turner]

You are discovering your abstract side I see - I like the flow of this piece, it has an underlying misery that is disquieting but is full of hidden surprises.
You are a very talented writer.