The Putting Green
I’m glowing from my mid-June sea-swim God is in his cubby hole storage space A place usually concealed by slatted chubb-lock doors, which today he has flung open wide like his man spread, as he sits performing a one-person show for the couple standing before him for all eternity. You are invited to partake in a round. This much I gather from the spread of score cards, balls and anti-bac spray with a motley selection of diecast putters leaning invitingly against a laminate top catering table. The putting green shimmers with holy portent. Its eighteen solar systems each undulating around their dead suns, sucking soft dimpled moons into a comforting abyss. Announcing their demise with an edifying clonk, a down the drain rattle of an ending. A pastel draped couple stand ready Moon scythes in hand before God, discussing something beyond my perception. In this vacuum of Summer I feel my chest fill with an infinite optimism inf...