Drenched

Fluorescent yellow poked at the pointed greens,

flags filled the circles on the grass, 

tiny carts whirred around each corner,

shiny metal being swung through the air,

and a brunette teenager standing at the front of the chaos.

Golf is an extremely difficult sport.

it takes years to see growth. I had a relatively easy,

but very difficult job at the course.

Tripping over my soaked vans,

I would dart around to each golfer making sure they were satisfied

and having a good time.

I would speed through the little shelter that enclosed our golf carts,

running to pull one lucky cart out of its parking spot,

to be drained by the next old white man in line.

I wouldn’t call it abuse,

but words were hurtful in that place.

Every man always had something to say,

very often it was a twisted way of telling me that I am pretty.

I would rather be deaf than to hear any of them speak to me again.

I know I am dramatic, but if I wasn’t dramatic you wouldn’t see the point.

There would be no exigency to my writing.

I warned people away from this place too many times.

Author's Note

take my advice