improbable win

in the summers as a boy
I’d go up north
to my grandparents cabin
Hackensack Minnesota

they’d bring me to auctions 
and buy me hot dogs
and root beer
they’d bid on chainsaws
and wheel barrows 
kerosene lamps
and mechanical cuckoo clocks
and sometimes they’d bid
on a ’miscellaneous box’

these boxes would have
maybe one or two good things
like a hunting knife
or a novelty shoe horn
and it would be in a box
with gads of other junk

this one time grandpa bid
because he wanted a fishing reel
and he won and he took the reel
and gave what was left to me:
a dozen brand new tennis balls
bright and green 
and six or seven finely sanded
ergonomic wooden 
long axe handles

I was thrilled and knew 
just what I could do
the axe handles 
would be golf clubs and
all those tennis balls 
would be my golf balls
I made a sprawling
championship golf course
all throughout grandpa’s property
with empty coffee cans for holes
buried up to their open rims

I’d play these epic tournaments
for ten hours a day 
I’d play and play and play
I hit some incredible shots
under tremendous pressure
against Hall of Fame opponents

and after each breathtaking win
I’d have colorful interviews
with CBS and ESPN
and I’d explain to them
all the important shots
of my improbable win
until the sun would dip down
below the tree tops
and grandma or grandpa
would call me back in.
for more competitive sport poetry,
please follow me on Twitter at @thatdankent