The Prize

I hustle to retrieve it.
But,
the beautiful prize
bounces merrily away.
Exuberant orange lined with black,
Textured surface.

Down the trodden court it goes only to find air the final seconds.
Blunk. Swish.
I take another grab for it.
I claw at its synthetic composite.

Why must the prize
be so coveted?
It’s so perfect,
so spherical and symmetrical.

Away the prize goes,
I scramble after.
Squeak. Boing.
Crazily, I go along.

I can only see one thing.
The perfect parabolas,
The perfect bounce.
I’m nearly there,
my finger tips skim it,
and a tingling sensation runs up my back.

Yet, so close,
the buzzer rings,
And the golden prize,
becomes a meer material object,
once again.