Boom Boom Betty and Pot Shot Pointer - Petanque 2007

Boom Boom Betty, 88; stops the game,

raises one wet finger, stills; checks the wind,
tips her hat, grins; swings her string,
and picks up her hot golden ball
on a dangling silver magnet; walks, limps a bit,
reins in the distance down the court,
steps into the loop, stoops, aims,
and Boom!!! Boom Boom Betty fires her shot:
“Tirez!” cheers the crowd, busy,
“Bravo Betty!” the spectators sport
as a galaxy of balls circling the Jack,
split, knocking the little wooden Cochonnet
into the pit. Snags a shell, hopscotches
the scorched path, yells, plops over
the cliff, and hits the shock of ice-cold sea.
“What a shot!” says the Cochonnet, stunned,
“What a blast” says the Crowd; all sound,
“What a shooter” frowns the Cochonnet;
winks, drinks tea in the underwater gallery,
drowns. Takes a deep breath, rebounds.
Impasse: The Game On the Ground.

All still, last shot, Pot Shot Pointer goes for
the roll; stands, tennis before the serve,
in a circle chalked; the boardwalks hush.
12 All - match point stuff – poised. All
surveyed, the game played, Pot Shot stands,
quiet and dazed; eyes trance, last chance,
to the left or to the right? Avoid the bounce,
trip the hum of the restless crowd; Quiet
now. Head bowed. No sound. Prays...
the middle way. Hush; come to my arms
"Two cheese and pickle and a cup of tea,
Please," Pot Shot Pointer gets the roll, tea
hot, hears the news, hears the shots. Loud.
The Crowd Falls. And from the Speaker:
"Pick up your belongings from the Lost and
Found." Impasse: The Game on the Ground.

2007

Sensitive

We always hear the gunshots

And then the jackboots

Striding over goose steps,

And the goosesteps across my heart

And goosebumps in my throat.

And the goose fat in the pan.

And the goose.

Just stop. Watch.

Close your eyes. These goose
steps are not dance moves.