Here's the prompt:
Write a matches poem. The matches could be sticks that make fire. Or it could be matches from a game. Or the verb of “to match.” Or as in the phrase “He’s not a good match for you.” Or whatever other match you can make.
And here's my attempt:
At
the Match
She
watches on the sidelines
hunched
over, her arms, legs
fingers
crossed for luck.
Her
head looks left, then right
as
the ball goes over the net
back
and forth
back
and forth.
She
takes a deep breath
when
her son loses a point,
then
her head looks left and right
again.
His
opponent beats his racket
on
the court when he misses,
sneering
at his father
standing
with his nose
at
the fence.
But,
calmness prevails.
Her
son’s last shot,
his
famous backhand down the line,
wins,
and she knows
they’ll
have a great drive
home.
Ben, age 14
He had a few tennis trophies
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