Ritual
a buddy and I play tennis every Thursday
under the lights on the blue hard courts
at the old high school. There’s a small
stream that slides against an alley of woodland
and sometimes at dusk we see deer and rabbits
and errant house cats. Tonight we’re deep
into the fourth set when a sudden whoop of laugher
shanks our concentration. A volley of clanking
bottles, more laughter and a baseline of
ghost notes drum from the wooded alley
by the stream. At first we can’t tell
what sort of ritual is taking place
but as we approach it starts to make sense.
Why do you play tennis without a net
asks one of the girls gathered on the grass
it’s a good question, and one we revisit often
in times of doubt. But before I can
open my mouth my partner says
the same reason witches dance
in the woods without clothes
lobbing laughter and music at the moon
©2023 Damon Hubbs All rights reserved.
Damon Hubbs is interested in leisurely games of tennis & perfectly moist coffee cake. His poems have been published in numerous journals with recent works featured in Otoliths, Synchronized Chaos, Streetcake, Roi Fainéant Press, Don’t Submit!, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Book of Matches, Exist Otherwise & Horror Sleaze Trash. He lives in New England.