I tuned him ‘hoe gannit?’
he tuned me ‘molo’
I tuned him ‘yebo yes’
he tuned me ‘haibo voetsek’
I tuned him ‘I want to play with’
he tuned me ‘you don’t have the balls’
I tuned him ‘I can use yours’
he tuned me he doesn’t like an oke playing around
I tuned him
he tuned me
at that point, I think we vibrated on the same frequency
he then tuned me to show him what I got
I tuned him to ‘step aside old bullet’
he tuned me
I took position, wiped the grin above my manly chin and caressed the shaft of the club
I could feel him checking out my stance
an uncomfortable circumstance
so I went to one side and began to prance
this hypnotised his body into synchronised trance
I grabbed his waist and initiated the brain dance
cheek to cheek, he glinted an activated glance
I could feel the growth in my lance
I drifted off to the capital of France
dreaming of the minister of finance
he hesitated, no advance
the moment was gone no romance
so I went balls to the wall and pulled down his golfing pants
and was confronted with a three purple pineapple plants
did he do it? was it a story of transplants?
I tuned him to back off
and so he did, scratching his head
then he tuned me ‘hurry up you are cramping my style’
he spun around and pointed at the ball
at that moment
I became one with the ball
I am the ball
I am not small
I am tall
tall paul in the town hall of Nepal doing a pub crawl out on sick call puking on my abdominal wall in disdain of all this urban sprawl, take me off the roll call I don’t wanna be in the mall playing professional play play baseball no more, I prefer football.
he said something and it sounded profound.
I was sweating from the tension of the decision to do something featherbrained,
but I took a look at his Callway glove and knew this was a serious encounter.
two strangers battling it out.
I wondered if I could grow a boep on my back?
he began humming an unknown tune.
I tuned him ‘stop messing around, enough, let’s play ball!’
‘haibo voetsek gimme my club’ he tuned, ‘now you stuffing around’
I blocked out all the tuning and asinine thoughts and focused on the white ball perched on the blue peg
‘I call myself pegasus!’
and whacked the ball.
it’s trajectory was that of our kickstarter campaign – slow and stressful, but successful.
he does not know what Kickstarter is, but he sure knows what a good golf shot is.
what a great moment we were fortunate to share
I’m the peach. He is the pear.
(the man in the background is a pigment in your eye.)