To slice or flat serve the tennis ball—I strategize
Whether to set up a long or short point. Victory
Flashes in golden hues before my eyes: trophy
Smiling in left hand, racket dancing in right—the perfect
Image of a champion. But, Whoosh…

Crash back to reality: Sweaty Palms. I must win. Launch
The ball high up to the top of Olympus. It conceals
Itself in the glowing Heavens. Boom! Wide
Awake, hop into Athletic Position. Not
An ace, but not death. Once again,

The ball lands on my racket. Smash! to the
Far Corner. Finger Biting, Flapping Hearts, Silence.
Green shirt's arm juts out like an Egyptian –
No hit. Whose point? His head hangs. Line judge
Yells “GOOD!” Face beaming, I make my way

To the center of the tennis court,
Shake angry’s hand. Don’t get cocky,
Stay cool. Coach’s voice now in my
Ears, he knows what’s best.
Five more rounds…

What serve now?