Exhausted at the Fifth Hole

Muscles scream, burn

Legs like lead weights, drag

Arms like jelly, weak

Willpower waning, must quit

Suddenly, high school boys

Pass ahead walking jauntily

Hauling bigger bags

Strength flickers through my limbs

Husband says

“You can do it, thanks for being with me, Sweetie!”

Finish the hole, move to the next one

Can’t find it, waste time searching

Friendly golfer points the way

The ball actually gets into the air

this time

Another flicker of strength

Seventh hole a bit easier, shorter

Gulp a bottle of water thirstily

Eighth hole, wind blows the ball over to another link

Further to tread

Can’t putt worth week old beans

Ball passes across the cup, again and again

Pick it up and plop it in, just to say “I was there”

Pride surges vaguely at the ninth hole

If exhausted on the fifth hole

what would it be called an hour later?

Bankrupt, collapsed, crumpled

disintegrated, dissolved, caved in

But I did it

I did it

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