:: Racquetball with Dieter ::

:: tis the off-season, and all through the house,
i'm not riding, not even to visit with my grouse.
the bikes are nestled in the basement with care,
with deams of fresh asphalt and weather that is fair.
when i'm asleep, all snug in my bed,
visions of the pave, dance in my head.
i've put away the jerseys and my cycling caps,
it's a fine time of year to take lots of naps.
when on my cell phone there arose such a clatter,
i answer it quick to see what was the matter.
when what to my wondering ear should appear,
but dieter saying that racquetball is near.
he springs about the court so lively and quick,
that plump chump and sho jo begin to feel sick.
more rapid than eagles the volleys they came,
he laughed and he giggled and then called me names.
one bounce off the floor just after the wall,
straining, panting, and gasping, - onto the ground i fall.
i try not to cry, i try not to care,
but this silly game just doesn't seem fair.
dieter's eyes how they twinkle, his dimples how merry,
his cheeks are like roses, his nose like a cherry.
me i have a broad waist and a little round belly,
that shakes when i run like a bowl full of jelly.
with a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
know that failure was near, and i begin to dread.
and while laying his finger aside of his nose,
scored the match point and danced on his toes.
and i heard him exclaim as he rode out of sight,
eat a salad plump chump, no burgers tonight! ::