Expeditions
Golf clubs and
you remember those
mornings in
mid-summer
fifty years ago we played
six holes at seven.
Inept shots
slow play. Nine years old.
Lost balls and
steaming grass
in the rising summer sun
Our chaperone game
but helpless
someone’s mother who
did her time
for the kids
avoiding wild tee shots and
swinging seven irons
while we walked
the dew-drenched course with
squelching steps
in soaked sneakers
flailing at an inert ball
that sometimes we hit.
1/17/19
shadorma chain
Claudia McGill Writes Poetry, Did You Know That? 
Beautiful
Thank you!
This reads like a lovely snapshot of a memory, one of those childhood experiences that might have felt frustrating at the time but then has this warm glow after enough years have passed. You know, despite being a Fifer who grew up near the birthplace of golf, surrounded by golf courses, I have never played a round of golf. Crazy golf, yes, but not proper golf.