by Peter Ozeroff
We threw our clubs into his car
And off we drove to play
To exercise our Callaway’s and Pings
Enjoy our special day.
The sun was out, the winds were calm
And we arrived, on course, on time.,
The massive clubhouse beckoned us
The game was on Bob’s dime.
The first drive was the best—
And then it stopped, -We went
From trees to sand, to fairway next
The last straw was the tent.
Poor Bob, an average golfer tried his best
But near the end, by pond, – his ball had come to rest’
He never said a word, picked up his clubs
And in they went, we saw the splash.
I gasped, but then remembered that our friend Bob
Could well afford the cash.
But wait, -Bob turned around, -rolled up his pants
Right past his knees,
Climbed in the pond, –
Not to retrieve his clubs…
He came back with his keys!!!!! Peter Ozeroff Jan. 30,2021
Peter Ozeroff lives in Castlegar, BC with his wife Dana. He is a local historian and a poet. His poem, “Sports Car Bob,” brings to mind a serene, convivial atmosphere and highlights a humorous moment during a golf game.
