Day 3 - Squashed Oaths

The ball picks up speed as it leaves the racket,
hitting the wall obliquely,
finding the only irregularity on the otherwise smoothness of the plastered wall.

It flies off strangely
and player misses
   and stumbles
      and falls
         and swears.

A brief exclamation nothing more.
An immediate link between brain and voice that shows us to be real and alive.
Not hidden but human and visceral and part of the world.

It is enough.
The opponent is not impressed.
"That'll do for today"

Racket slides into sleeve.
Sleeve is pushed into bag.
And bag and owner squeeze themselves through the door. Like that.

Silence.
Sudden silence.
A little way off  can be heard the bounce of balls in other courts.
Other worlds.

Swears again.
A mirror to the first expletive, but one of loss.
The opponent so crucial to progress is out.
District attorney, client, publisher, celebrity?
Back to square one.

Outside a hop,
a skip,
a consideration of a jump,
is enough to disentangle the webs of the mind.

The sun shines regardless.
The world is abuzz.
Another profanity,
one of sheer joy.