Wimbledon

Oh to be at the Center court
so many times on TV fought
would be a dream come ball
strawberries, champagne and all
I would savour one thing only
feast my heart on fight of the lonely
victorious women and men
who flick the ball again and again
get a crick in my neck for sure
for all the times my eyes endure
the play of the silly the yellow round
up, down, aloft, swusshing on ground
the Wimbledon on the tele, not live
a wish to be granted - a forehand drive
alas, does not do it for me
one day - one year, never - maybe
with poetry and my dream of Albion
tennis to see is hubby's passion
to give him a ticket to the ride
would be a sure and foremost pride
to dress for that fancy occasion
would be my special celebration
and study the people in the stalls
instead of staring viciously at that ball
with Brooke and Granchester in mind
and his longing for home of a kind
now for that simple reason I yearn
to be there and money burn
for there is betting to be had
alas, don't do it said my Dad
only if you are prepared to lose
and laugh at your own silly bruise
a sum of a specific and little amount
you can then enjoy, not lose count -
of the many times the ball flies over
the distance would be from there to Dover
what a silly ending to my poem
it was fun to write it -here in Golem.