Bush and Bunker
No boy wants to die in a bunker;
No boy wants a few idle rounds:
No boy wants to wield
A club in the field;
No boy wants to stray out of bounds.
Should he miss, and the sand start to blow up,
No boy wants a mark on his card.
No boy wants to pass
A night in rough grass:
No boy wants his balls hit too hard.
No boy wants to be like Doug Sanders,
And to fail at his one final hole.
No boy likes the edge
Of a badly-made wedge.
No boy wants to birdie his soul.
No boy wants to aim at the flag, but
To drop down, and very nearby.
No boy could be seen
As too green on the green.
No boy likes a very bad lie.
I've seen through the greed of the golfer,
The compulsion that goes to his head.
It isn't a sport
That I'll give further thought:
I've taken up fighting instead.