Eyed by pigeons and the tall windows
of elegant cream mansions
she and he enter the court.
Father and daughter, mentor and child,
racquets swinging.
Left outside, I contribute
the only way I know.
From a damp bench, peering through
the barrier of wire,
I draw them.
Years later, I see that I have drawn
the netting round the court
intricately, lovingly,
like a prisoner viewing
the exercise yard.
Janice Windle
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/growing-pains-12-tennis-in-bournemouth/
