Tennis


She plays tennis every week with him -
wouldn't miss it for the world.
She delicately drops, and serves like a lady
in long skirts, never perspiring,
barely a pant at the end of a generous rally.
He loves her.
His skill enables him to take his eye off the ball
until the critical moment,
luxuriating in the sight of her;
by contrast, she fixes doggedly on the ball,
refuses refreshment, eager
for every minute, every point.
It hurts him so.
His weekly loyalty amazes her -
after all, it's hardly a fair match;
the knowledge pricks a little,
yet during long sets she can pretend
they're equal, with everything to play for.
He knows he'll never win.

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