The great unwashed public is probably unaware that April is national poetry month. As cultural liaison officer, I feel it is my duty to keep the membership informed and classy.
The Green Peel
by Chips All In
I sat hunched over, sipping tequila with lime,
pondering where my golf game went this time.
A man of my ability just couldn't shoot such a high score,
where was the justice, for god's sake, an eighty four.
The sharks began to circle with a zest and zeal,
they swam around me awaiting the green peel.
Half heartedly I paid them one and all,
the hacks, the baggers, the short and the tall.
I stared in my glass wondering, could it be,
I, no better than them, no, not me.
When did this happen, why wasn't I there,
where was my pro, and why doesn't he care?
My game deserted me, why wasn't I at my best,
my putter went south and my short game is a mess.
My swing hitches and stutters with a glitch and a flaw,
sometimes I hit a fade, no wait it's a draw.
I could pull my hair out or see a shrink,
I could practice and bring my game to the brink.
Why did this happen, a reason I can not think,
luckily there's always tomorrow, so I will order another drink.