Monday, December 1, 2014

Anaphora, by Becca Porter



We play golf.
            People actually enjoy this sport.
We are women.
            Females are strong, smart, and focused.
We wear cute skirts and color-code everything.
            The best thing about this sport is the clothes.
We are human;
            Curse words fly out of our mouths like a bat out of hell.
We sweat.
            If it’s hot out, it’s guaranteed we are dripping sweat from everywhere on our bodies.
We are emotional,
            Good or bad, tears will happen eventually.
We are a team.
            Sticking up for each other comes with the territory.
We fight.
            Six females crammed into one van, the estrogen will trigger words we are not proud of.
We laugh.
            Just because we play a quiet sport, does not mean we are quiet whatsoever.
We are committed.
            Trying to hit a little ball into a little hole takes endless hours of practice.
We are exhausted.
            Playing this sport competitively and collegiately takes stupid-long hours that kill us.
We are driven.
            We strive to be a better golfer, person, and student.
We are silly.
            With all that time together, personalities come out whether you like it or not.
We are reckless.
            Spending 500 dollars on a putter is exhilarating.
We work hard, but we play harder.
            Busting our butts on the course and in the classroom cause us to have a drink or two.
We are athletes.
            Golf is a sport. It takes time, courage, and mental/physical toughness.
We are golfers.

1 comment:

  1. Sounds like you have a wonderful, fun group of golfing buddies, Becca. I enjoyed the repetition here: "We are driven...we are silly...we are reckless." This poem almost makes me want to try golf, just for the camaradarie.

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