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Wimbledon
He throws the ball
High in the air
His arm is raised
Now don’t despair
His racket’s gripped
Makes a tight fist
Gotta win this point
Just one serve left
And whack, he whacks it
Oh so hard
A meteor tears
Through the sweaty air
And is it in or is it out?
The crowd just gasps
The girlfriend pouts
And grips her hair
Oh! Oh! Don’t despair.
She’s staring at him
Like for her
He is the only thing
Worth living for.
Her heart is pounding,
Pounding fast
Oh how much longer
Can this game last?
‘Cause every game
He plays, she’s there
And every time
He hits the ball
It’s like her heart
That feels the thump,
It’s like her heart
That beats as fast
As the balls go
Spinning past
And mama, mama’s
Watching too
This valiant guy
Came from her womb
Those rippling muscles
Are her flesh
He was a puppy
In her nest
And now, and now,
He’s mighty sleek
Tears up the court
Like a raging beast
She’s watching every
Move he makes
Watching when
He lifts his cap
Watching when
He wipes his brow
Watching when
He slugs a drink
Watching, watching,
Mama proud
So is it in
Or is it out?
The electronic eye,
will sort it,
Yes sort it out.
And yes, it’s in!
A tiny sliver
Just covers the line
The opponent quivers.
It’s just a shadow,
A belly’s curve
But enough to make
The damn point mine!
The girlfriend shivers
Oh God another set
To play, oh why
Won’t this man go away?
But he won’t
He won’t go away
He wants to break you
So make his day
Ok pal, it’s time to play.
The crowd is hushed
The sun beats down
They gasp or shout
Or wince or frown,
Or giggle and gape
Some play the clown
Just a typical
English crowd
They can’t believe
How long it lasts
The ladies like
The sinewy thighs
They like these
Superhuman guys.
They like their arses
When they bend
When they crouch down
To start the set
Their white shorts, white
As snow and crisp
Their sculptured arms
Their rock hard tits
And most of all
Their guts, the way
They stand before
The massive throng
Whilst the punters urge
Their favourite on
They stand there proud
And twirl their rackets
Waiting for the meteor strike
And show no fear
Eyes laser-like
From where the ball
Will spit at you
A great white glob
Spat through the air
How handsome men are
When they fight
How fierce like animals
When they show their might
The ladies keep these thoughts
Real quiet
And utter sweet and melting sighs
As their lust filled eyes
Just graze their thighs
Their boyfriends wish
They’d some of it
The boyfriends wish
They had their balls
The boyfriends wish
Their girlfriend’s eyes
Adored them so much
As these superguys
OK, it’s two sets each
It evened out
The Swiss guy looks
A little wan
Like his candle’s gonna
Be snuffed out
Yet he’s the dude
Real cool, real calm
Thick hair tied with
A cummerbund
His sponsor’s logo
On his chest
Why he don’t look
Like he even sweats
He’s waiting for
The Yank to serve
Fingertips strum
The racket’s strings
He knows that his
Opponent serves
Like the ball
Had sweptback wings
Like a shot
From a cannon’s mouth
It’s faster than
A speeding Jag
Swifter than
A plunging bird
Ready to pierce
It’s silvery prey
As it glides innocent
In the foaming spray
The Yank, he tests
The balls each time
Poppity poppity poppity pop
He pockets one
The other’s ok
He does the same thing
Like a rhyme
Like a ritual
He must obey
Bouncing the ball
Yes, just three times
Is he sending a message
To the Gods of the game
Whose names are mounted
Now up high
The greats, whose sweat
Has drenched the courts
Whose steel sprung thighs
Had raced and leapt,
Scissorr’d over the turf
Hands outstretched
Heart pounding, veins bulging,
Lungs aflame
Oh yes, the masters
Of the game.
Their legends live
Now for all time
On the pantheon
They are enshrined
But now their shadow
Selves remain
Dressed in suits,
Hair turned to grey
A dishy number
By their side
To give these champs
A little pride,
But as she sits,
Her skirt rides high.
But when they enter
The viewing stands
The crowd bursts into
Warm applause
Oh, is this not,
The sweetest sound
The loveliest music
The ex champ hears
Like the fluttering of
Angel’s wings
Wafting the odour
Of ancient games
Into the nostrils
Of these ex-kings
Susurrating through
The hot June air
Now, the old champs
Stare right down
Seeing their young selves
On the green
Remembering what it was like
To feel ten thousand eyes
Demand a kill
Watching you dance,
Leap, twist and turn
That impossible ball
You returned
Watching the muscles
Writhe in their skin
Watching your grace,
Your poise, your spin
But now another
Takes your place
Another’s standing
In your shoes
Another hand will
Smash an ace
Another one
Will win or lose
It soars, it swoops,
It hits the square
So fast it scorches
Up the air.
He can’t return it,
He’s not that fast
That’s beyond just
Any man to grasp
That’s beyond what
Mortal man can do
Outside of what
Is possible
40 love, another hit,
Oh God he wants to
Bloody spit
Bloody aces
Make him sick
Just look into his eyes
And see, the fires
Beginning to subside
4 hours hey! It’s
Just too much
Hit and smash,
And whack and crack
The sun now gets
Into the act.
Zoom! Keblam!
Drop shot! Volley!
Poor girlfriend slowly
Turns to jelly
Oh there’s a royal
Looking so smart
And there’s a nebbish
Woody Allen,
Russell Crowe is looking mild
All actors are impressed
By heroes tearing up
The turf, the ring
Rough waters, land
Just anything
Since actors only make-believe
The stand-in does
The real hard stuff,
To make it look
The actor’s tuff
No stand-in here
For these two dudes
Now almost half the
Weight they seemed
Before they stepped,
Onto the green
But still they fight,
They hit, they play
The ball is just
A stain across
Your retina, it goes so fast
Just how much linger
Can it last?
Just now, they’re
Eating up their flesh
Just now they’re
Drinking their own blood
Just now they’re
Feeding on reserves
Just now their
Stomach’s turned to mud
But still, but still
But still, but still
They’ll play until,
Their flesh drops off
Until their muscles
Turn to glue
Until their limbs
Are held by threads
Zoom! Keblam!
Drop shot! Volley!
The girlfriends face is
Turned to putty
Her eyes stare blindly
Stabbed with pain,
No longer is this
A tennis match
This is a tryst
Whose end is death
Unless just one of them
Succumbs or else his heart,
Bursts in his chest.
They could play
For evermore
As if it was
Some punishment
Just like narcissus
Poor vain thing
Turned to a flower
By a stream
Or like Prometheus
Feeding his flesh
Every night, for evermore
His poor tired liver
Is shredded raw.
So don’t provoke the jealous god
But know your place
You’re just poor sods
Or else you’ll feed
The Gods your gore
So these two
Superhuman men
Be careful lest
You’re turned into
Just two small stinking
Sweaty pools
But now the Yank
Has missed the ball
He missed the one,
The important one,
The one that sends him,
To Kingdom Come
The one upon
Which text is writ….
‘He who lets
This ball go past
His reputation
Will not last
He who fails
To send me back
Will be forever
On the rack
Remain forever
In the plains
Where also-rans
Bide out their time
He who lacks
The final surge
Will forever
In his mind
Play the game
Time after time
‘If only I’d done
This or that’
His mind will be
A nest of rats
Yes, forever
On the rack
Thank God it’s over
Over now,
The happy crowd
The simple folk
Who seldom tear
Themselves apart
To entertain folks
With their art
Who never sweat
And break their hearts
To go that extra mile
Or even die
That we may watch
TV and send email
And make the tea.
The crowd applauds
The winner, loser too
Who looks forlorn
As if the world
Has tossed him out
Into deep space nine
The Swiss one smiles
And walks the court
He’s waving to the
Cheering throngs
Who now can stand,
Their flattened arses
Slightly numb
But now how strange
He dons a coat,
Holds the cup up
To his lips,
It’s gold and gleaming
And his kiss
Is like a kiss
For all of us
But wait, what is that
On his wrist?
That’s on his wrist,
what’s that?
Some magic bracelet,
Shining bright
Some talisman
Like Arthur’s sword
Rending immortality
To those who wear it?
Yes, it’s a Rolex
Glittering steel
Did our hero,
Even at this time
Where life and earth
Almost collide
And with the hope
Of millions on his head
His wife and baby
Nearly bursting through
In years to come
She’ll tell the child
When daddy triumphed
I felt you writhe
Felt you moving
In my womb
Like you my sweet
Were cheering him
But yet the Swiss man
At the end
When half the world
Stood up and yelled
When even the Gods
Themselves were quelled
Remembered to put
His Rolex on
For now the Gods
Are sponsors
Never offend
And if they say
‘Please, let your cuff
Slip down your arm
So the world may see
The gifts that Heaven brings
Our mighty Rolex, glittering
So all is past
And home they go
Old champions comment
For the TV screen
Potificate
and make shrewd chat
Illuminate our
Weary minds
To tell us what
We missed or failed
To see with their
Professional artistry
And so farewell
Dear Wimbledon,
And to you all
Sampras, Becker,
Borg, Agassi,
Navratilova, gorgeous Gussie
Billy Jean King and Steffi Graf
McEnroe and Nastase
Roger Federer Andy Roddick
And know that
Every ace you played,
Every impossible return
Will be a star
In that great mighty urn
of heaven.
So farewell to you all. |
Copyright © 2009 Steven Berkoff
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