Paving the court hits me hard, makes me hurt,
Pulls something out of me as the smothering past gasps.
It feels like the end of all that I played for,
Seeing the net folded and taken away. But
Progress means more and that more needs
Places that come from the loss of the game.
I have run and pushed, served long and quick.
I have swung and missed, given up more than I took.
The score is plain but uneasy to see:
Match point is yours, and you move so fast.
Though you do not return what I serve,
I’m left without. Love.
©2010 by Kerri L. Bennett