By Gillian Bartlett

Rackets standing in the hall
Waiting quietly

Courts locked and padlocked
Blossom drifting

Players patiently watching
Clouds passing

And imagining
The pink sand in their shoes
The hot dusty courts
The fresh smell of cut grass
The crack of balls on rackets
The shouts and laughter

And they wait
For the time
When
The lockdown
Will
End