Brain strain from counting things 
I didn’t do yet, ‘Jesus it’s too much!’
Body scrambled, nerves jangle
From poor sleep, from absent tender touch.
But it doesn’t matter, nothing will shatter:
No lost hope, no dream sold or bought
That can’t be resurrected -or forgotten
On this Friday tennis court.

Wrecker arrives, drives us there and back
My heart is open to my friend -and to the THWACK
Of racquet upon unruly ballSo, leap, don’t fall! Laugh and swear!
The curved balls lobbed by life we can bear
Cancer, stolen husbands, crazy children,
Have they all played their stroke then?
In 14 years, we have shed tears,  
Fallen, wounded, but not broken.

She can say anything to me, feel free,
‘Me too’; we are shock-proof,
So called morals left out to dry 
On some far distant roof,
And there might be a chocolate bar,
A flask of tea- or there might not.
But Gringa will howl at Wrecker’s
Vicious, tOP-SPun, cross-court, shot.

I will sense the ball, see it, feel it, aim it badly, DAMN!
It comes back at me redoubled, now aim it true, SLAM!
For every shot with luck or skill so kissed
Might come a poxy serve, an easy high ball missed.
But there’s no shame, we live to fight again
In bitter cold, in finely drizzling rain.
In summer we roasted, hot air, thick and close,
In winter pussy-whipped by icy gusts
My fingers frozen brittle, Wrecker shared her gloves.

Whether the sun shines or low clouds retch,
We walk and talk, unburden, bend and stretch
Then unveil our weapons, hedge our bets.
The sky is wide, the trees are brave and high
We focus, breathe; we know we are alive.
No lost hope, no dream sold or bought
That can’t be resurrected -or forgotten
On this Friday tennis court.