Bowling

Dirty white
Red stripped pins,
In triangle formation;
Standing tall
At the end
Of oiled wood floors.

Fifteen pounds
Sit against my hip;
Greased fingers
And hand
Fit perfectly
In the ball.

Approaching
The foul line
With five steps
And a deep breath.

A flick
Of the wrist
And follow through
With a crash
Waiting to happen.

The excitement
I feel
When I roll
A strike
Or a hard spare.

I call

The alley
A second home.

But when it's
Time to leave,
The smell
Of grease in my hair,
And dirty fingers
Are the strange
Little traits
I love
Coming home too.

Reviews

[Emunah June.]

This piece can speak to the reader on quite a few levels. You can take it at face value, as nothing more than an actual poem about bowling, but I can also see it as a poem about high school life: students forced to conform and act the same, walk the same, stand the same, only to be told to stand right up and do it all over again when something drastic happens. Yet, at the same time, it could also just be a poem about dealing with one’s own inner struggles. Either way, I quite happened to enjoy it overall. You are quite talented! I love the metaphors and descriptive words you used, thy really brought the piece together into one, big, great, powerful gem.

[Blue Belle]

Thank you so much! I like your way of thinking deeper into the poem, it's quite interesting to see.

[knapp darko]

I love bowling and I really enjoyed this. I look forward to reading more of your work this was fun, I loved the metaphors you used and look forward to reading more

[Blogger]

Very fun! I love that sport, and you summarize this well.

[Beccy]

Aside from the quite brilliant imagery and choice of words that puts the reader right there in that bowling alley with you, this is a multi-layered write that shows you have an innate talent for expression.

I really enjoyed this.

Beccy.

[Blue Belle]

Thank you! :)