The Imperfect Pursuit Of Happiness

Roy Parfitt

He knows better – than to storm and curse

As poorly as he’s playing – it could be worse

Golf’s hard to figure – he knows that’s true

Then that perfect shot – comes out of the blue

As does that slice – or duck hook pull

Like a beautiful woman – who treats him cruel

Then cuddles up – to caress his cheek

Just before he shanks one – into the creek

Across the green – his poor putt skips

Then right at the hole – his poor putt slips

Go figure – he mumbles – his ego scarred

And pencils a snowman – on his card

He loves playing well – and the feeling it brings

Other times his best shots – are his practice swings

He understands fully – no one else is to blame

He knows himself better – since he took up the game

He’s learned that profanity – won’t change a balls flight

And silently watches – as it disappears from sight

But when problems and turmoil – are ruining his day

He’ll pick up his clubs – and they all go away

He’s heard golf is like life – whatever that means

He doesn’t believe it – it’s more complicated it seems

If praying would help – he would try and appease

The Golf Gods by spending – eighteen holes on his knees

But at the end of the day – it’s not how many – but how

How did he get – to where he is now

How did he conduct himself – while playing the game

Will they think him a gentleman – and remember his name

He knows a true golfer – doesn’t dwell on his score

But looks forward to tomorrow – and what’s even more

Understands golf – is not heaven or hell

But an opportunity to live life – and to live it well