Bowling Ball
for my husband the IT manager
We visited my aunt, who has a
summer house we could never afford,
connected to a barrier reef beach by ferry.
You sat in the low surf just yards from the dry sand,
your sunglasses and baseball cap still on,
inhaling sharply and hooting
with shock and pleasure
every time the cold breakers rushed past
your crossed legs and up your crotch,
chortling with delight
when the foaming force knocked you over like a bowling ball,
your legs splayed in the air,
your middle-aged belly protruding over your bathing suit.
You briefly free,
fresh as a baby.
• • •
Elizabeth Hill was a finalist in the 2022 Rattle Poetry Contest, with her poem also appearing as Poem of the Day on February 20, 2023. She was nominated for the Pushcart Prize and has been published in 34th Parallel Magazine, Blue Lake Review, SAND, and I-70 Review, among other journals. She is a retired Administrative Law Judge who was responsible for suits concerning learning disabled children. She lives in Harlem with her husband and two irascible cats.