For A.M.
The players on Court Four offend the most,
When their attention, diverted by bare
Female flesh strolling the Beachfront, provokes
Electromagnetic flashes—sparks stares.
A few just stop, transfixed, round-eyed, slack-jawed.
Another, famous for his verbal wit,
Shouts “Hola Muchacha!” Some, hopeless, awed,
Whisper “’morning ladies,” addressing tits.
But Abdul pursues a more aggressive
Strategy. His lofted ball skims the fence
To fall before pulchritude—warm missive
Of desire, lust. “A little help please?” Tense,
Testoster-stoned, they watch as, with some strain,
She flips back the ball, smiling her disdain.
(6/3/10)