How I Lost Wimbledon

for my niece, Celie

This was back when
she was just a little thing,

no taller than a racquet
or maybe just slightly.

It was the year
I had my best shot.

I don’t even remember now
who I was playing,

let’s say it was Borg.
Regardless, I had made

The Finals, I was in my whites
and I was focused,

supremely focused
on the goal,

like a man
is supposed to be

when he’s chasing down
one of life’s grand prizes.

Everyone’s eyes were on
Centre Court as the battle

wore on. Everyone’s eyes
except Celie’s, who

had noticed that the moon
was out in the daytime

and wasn’t that odd?
I think I was up a set

and a break. I was
just about

to put him away, when
she started yelling.

“Look at the moon, Alvie,
look at the moon!”

I didn’t look, but
a point sailed by.

“Look at the moon, Alvie,
look at the moon!”

I glanced at it and there
went another.

“Look at the moon, Alvie,
look at the moon!”

And by then
it was all over.

I just stood there
and watched it

as the games and the sets
and, finally, the match

slipped away.

This was back when
she was just a little thing,

no taller than a racquet
or maybe just slightly,

but, she already knew
that some men are meant

to jump the net
and kiss the grass

and some men
are meant simply

to look at the moon

–June 25, 2016