Paving the court hits me hard, makes me hurt,

Pulls something out of me as the smothering past gasps.

It feels like the end of all that I played for,

Seeing the net folded and taken away. But

Progress means more and that more needs

Places that come from the loss of the game.

I have run and pushed, served long and quick.

I have swung and missed, given up more than I took.

The score is plain but uneasy to see:

Match point is yours, and you move so fast.

Though you do not return what I serve,

I’m left without.  Love.

©2010 by Kerri L. Bennett