A Bowlers Short Dream Poem by Matt Mondschein

They arrive from destinations
Round' about the globe
Striving to attain success
Lugging sixteen pounds of reactive resin
Tools of their trade

Facing the synthetic wood
Undaunted
Hoping to endeavor a perfecto
Twelve in the whole
Burried, carried into submission
Splashed and hammered against the back rubber

A high in stature gentleman
Heats up the tourney
With the immediate ire of his keglin' mates
His first eleven shots are ripped through the pocket

All lids are wide open
The house anxiously awaits
The last ball is heaved
Ten pin speaks
Toss a nine
You get a nine
Two ninety nine