The Hacker
The hacker sets out in deep concentration,
But golf shots soon turn to excavation.
Staring glumly at cavernous divots,
No textbook technique, but reverse pivots.
They endure this torment for eighteen holes,
Feel guilty for all the evicted moles.
Into the clubhouse to glance at the card,
Which has been strangely, by high numbers marred.
poem by Greg Costello
Added by Poetry Lover
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