Municipal Course Kahuku Kapolei

Municipal Course Kahuku Kapolei

-Laurie Benson 2018©

"I can be a lefty!" was how
it all began,
the golf game, I mean.
My brothers,
my husband,
my dad,
and me.

Sometimes the only clubs
that are left are for lefties, and
my right-handed-brother
instantly converted,
so we could play,
the course,
of course.

And we walked, beside the ocean,
a course that had
hills and
swells, the sound of waves
and water, and a
sun-salt-weathered
cemetery where, "old golfers die,"
we kidded,
and we were kids then,
finding and searching for
golf balls, like an impromptu
egg hunt,
laughing at one labeled,
"sushi," and another
which we affectionately
named, "urine-beer-ball,"
because when retrieved from
the tin garbage,
someone's, "hole-in-one-shot,"
it dripped.

Then the Samaritan, or maybe
sister in me began picking up
trash,
as we walked
because the course was so
beautiful, and because
I don't golf.

I dumped the remnants of
a tall Coors can, dropped by
someone before us, and carried
it a bit, looking for
another tin garbage.

In my path, a baby's binkie,
which fit perfectly in the
opening of the
empty beer can.
Binkie-Beer!
I smiled at the irony of it.

And the lefty, and the
urine-beer-ball, and
my dad, brothers and me,
the empty score card,
cinder bathroom walls climbing
with geckos,
and our rented clubs,
all of us
were one of us.
Spoiled shots.
Sliced to the right.
"Scott shots," when the arch
was perfect.
Novices and semi-pros,
and tag-a-longs,
but, who was the binkie for?