ON THE LINKS

The shadow of a red tail hawk

Marked my golf ball as it lay

In all its bright whiteness,

Smack in the middle of the fairway.

I took one club higher than I used to hit

An approach shot of 155 yards

To an elevated, undulated pristine green.

Why one more?

No wind. No body turn. No strength. No more.

It flew high into the Western blue.

"Get there," I pleaded

As the ball flew over a huge green guarding bunker.

It did upon request.

Its resting momentary place, close to the pin.

Birdie time, I thought, mentally licking my chops.

The putt, stubborn as a co-ed, didn't drop.

Still a par, I surmised.

The cup remained open a second time, unfulfilled.

It wasn't my last 3-putt of the day.

The hawk, a harbinger, or an albatross

Glided over the Kierland course,

Caring nothing of my ill fortune.