One Word, One World

 

Down the streets of old Portugal where some speak Mirandese,

Or in the towns of Singapore, where tongues wag Cantonese.

In the Northern Island seas where the Danes speak Faroese

And some foreigners, I’ve heard tell, speak Chinese and Javanese.

Or along the Egyptian delta, where Arabic is king

It’s a worldwide phenomenon, amazing is this thing!

This polyglot world of ours is thoroughly awash

With lots of words, but there’s just one word for squash.

You could walk down the road speaking Uzbek or Manx.

You could say ‘Merci Beaucoup’ or ‘Tack’ or just ‘Thanks.’

It could rain in Sussex, so one puts on galoshes.

Then what can one do? Why, one goes and one squashes!

Scottish Gaellic’s heard along the Firth of Forth.

In Sweden it’s Sami that is spoken up North.

In South Africa its Afrikaans, Xhosa and Zulu,

And Pakistan speaks Pashto, Punjabi and Urdu.

But when these people feel they need a squash game

They all speak the same tongue, it’s all the same name!

In India it’s Bengali, Bhojpuri, and Khasi,

Plus Dogri, Sanskrit, Tamil and Nepali.

Italy has Friulian, Sardinian, Sicilian,

Catalan, Slovene, and, of course, Italian.

But all have just one word when it comes to this sport.

Say it and soon you’ll be on a squash court.

In Malaysia where the great Nicol David does play

They speak both English and a lot of Malay.

The Netherlands speak Dutch, West Frisian and Limburgish

And in Luxembourg – where I played once – there is Luxembourgish.

And the Russians have so many they’re too numerous to list

But by now, dear readers, I’m sure you get my gist.

If the world were one big squash court, I’m sure there’d be peace,

Acrimony, misunderstandings, and aggression would cease.

The next time soldiers, their bullets, and bombs are all set

Perhaps a squash player at the UN should yell ‘LET!’

Oh Squash God, Hear My Plea ...

Oh squash god! Hear my plea!

Fix forthwith my bum right knee.

With much sacrosanct piety,

And corporeal anxiety.

My knee, o lord, and thanks from me.

Knee cartilage wears down with the years,

My stomach grows larger with the beers,

Yet I still must beat my squashist peers,

But my balky knee adds to my fears.

Please squash god!

I swear I’ll return once more to church,

No more leaving god in the lurch,

Hell, I’ll feed Him some rainbow perch,

I’ll even fund sacerdotal research!

But please, seriously squash god….

I don’t mean to bug, protest or prod,

But I need that speed, not be a clod.

Hammies are good, plus left and right quad,

It’s just the right knee that needs fixing god.

Please?

Ode to a Winning Squash Ball

Well see here, my black rubber friend with two dots that stare like eyes!

I must say I'm quite fond of you for today's squash match surprise.

See, I played a level up today—not hoping much to win—

Against a very tough player with great court movement, good spin.

But at the loud clang of the tin at the close of the first game,

Behold! I had eked out a win, a faint echo of some fame. 

At the break my sweat-drenched opponent I could see was bone-tired.

But my winning of game 1 was so sweet I became up-fired!

He's drinking water from the fountain like a dog at his bowl.

All that running the diagonal will surely take its toll.

As the second game begins I feel cautiously elated,

And as it unfolds my opponent's more and more deflated.

I hold my shots so brilliantly, my footwork, ahhh, superb.

I feign shots leftward, hold, then shoot to the right, which helps perturb

My weakened opponent, who has taken to heavy sighing,

A reflection of the fact that on court the sucker's dying. 

Another game for me, and he's off court slurping like a fool.

A mess of gasping breath, twitching muscles, rivulets of drool.

Game 3 starts, and my opponent starts mouthing his excuses:

A twitchy back, a cough, a late night drowning in his juices.

And soon the tragic tale is through and I its mighty hero,

While my flummoxed opponent limps home, feeling like a zero. 

In the bag you go, squash ball, I'll save you for another day,

You've got plenty of nap to keep you till the next time we play. 

God help me if a seam should split you and ruin your facade!

Forever and ever I pray, saints preserve you, please, o god!

Amen!