I love and hate my golf clubs of summer
Stuffed neatly in their bag
or in my hand, preparing for its job
The silver shaft shining in the early
morning light
Cool to the touch from their night
in the garage

I think of my father, his golf
club in hand, words forming on his
lips, eyes bulging
in anger
Puffing up like a peacock
No thought behind,
Only that I’m doing it wrong
Jaw set, I don’t
dare say a word
For his word
Is law

Sometimes, only sometimes
Is there a smile on his face,
wrinkles forming on the
corners of his eyes
laughing, making jokes
When we play with our friends
The good and the bad
Has brought us together
And torn us apart

And once, when I was playing
in a tournament
A shot like no other
Scary
In its perfection
The first time he was genuinely
proud of me
Squeezing the air out of my
lungs
In a hug