This poem was published in Lyrical Iowa, 2011, by the Iowa Poetry Association
Friday Night Bowling League
(The league that I bowl on is called Friday Night Poets)
Ten pins stand defiantly,
shining pristinely,
aesthetically,
in the illuminated distance.We stare them down.
Our quest, the perfect game,
the immediate goal, a perfect frame.Pendulum swings and right leg torques create
collective poetry in our approaches,
where meter and rhyme join physics,
invigorating our 4-step deliveries.Then, after the drumroll and suspense,
we hear the claps from clash of balls and pins:
the strike, pure harmony
anything less, cacophony.