Wazzock On the First Tee

So small, helmeted and unstable
In the crook of the parabolic head
Of a bright orange tee
Sliding down its edge, unable to
Avoid the strike

A spoon selected and deselected
He heard the hyphenated word
Mashie-Niblick float down
For the first of four practice swings
Shuddering the air

Exploding in a shower of
Hurt and soil, Wazzock,
Now one with turf
Renamed as Divot
Landed on the fairway

Laughing as helmet and mud
Rolled from hillock to trough
A puncture in the 18 holes of
Wedged and puttered pain
Sliced to oblivion

Longing to be lost
Out of Bounds
To rest, recuperate
Bunkered back to
An above-par condition

A wazzock walked home