The Putout

The preconceived notions occupying her mind
Were of the rudimentary mechanical kind
She remembered how to grip in continental style
While approaching a forehand with crafty guile
Brushing the back of the ball with the strings
Awakened inside her those nervous butterfly wings
She could feel her touch taut and precise
Her concentration connected in accord with her slice
Respiring in the muggy mess of the sultry summer
The slick handle held loosely like the stick of a drummer
She swept a splattering shot ‘cross the net’s chin
A harmonious blend of terseness and acumen
Her opponent, she fell back with a step and a scowl
Undetermined whether to fight or cry foul
This isn’t to say she powerfully performed
But perhaps her stroke proved what others had warned
She embraced the chance to put you out
The lightning pings of her thunderous clout