The Back Nine of Life

The Back Nine

The analogy of life to the game of golf hits the nail on the head

The idea of the four seasons with the leaves turning color then being shed

Or the snows coming down, first melting, not sticking then slowly into drifts

Plodding ever so slowly as surely, ever so surely one loses the mobility gift

Until covered from head to toe never to be seen again

None of us are immortal always the question of not if but when

But the days of a season are never in a straight line

Subtle changes sometimes hard to clearly see or define

But golf is really much more zero one

Like match play unless delusional one knows when it can be no longer won

Down nine holes on the tee at ten even if in the past it has always been your best hole

The best to be hoped for is a tie followed  by sudden death to reach your winning goal

Drop another hole and your chances have come to an end which for many might be a relief

A chance to accept the loss without a bunch of “I wish I would haves” that bring only self anger and grief

As long as the game of life does not issue to each player Mulligans on demand

One should know exactly where after each stroke one will stand

Half of one’s life to correct one’s mistakes

Should turn any rough seas into a much calmer lake

Even with one half, correction is not quick enough

And the seas are still and growing rough

Still enough time to spread the oils of acceptance on the stormy waters

Even if delayed to the few remaining days when in a mental wheel chair able only to totter

Today I need not the ability to swing a club to chase the double eagle or hole in one

Joy enough to craft a poem and feel the warm rays on my face of the Sun

In the game of life today I feel I have won

The past cannot be edited to rerun

And tomorrow has not yet even begun

© November 27, 2016, Michael P. Ridley aka the Alaskanpoet 

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