Pickleball in the Rain: A Poem for People with a Pickleball Addiction

I know. I know. It’s just a wee bit insane
For only fools play pickleball in the rain
 
But oh, to resist those soaked courts of this day
When they look so much like the work of Monet
 
They glisten and shimmy like mirrors inviting
When returning sun supplies the magical lighting
 
Sure, they’ll be soaked for another long hour
Pending the absence of an ill-timed shower
 
“But why wait?” you say. “We can dink and have fun
We’ll just play an easy game where players won’t run.”
 
“We’ll shuffle around and try not to hit winners
And lobbers will be treated like the worst sinners”
 
It won’t be great pickleball, but better we say
Than empty-court watching on such a blah day 
 
There will always be one who sounds the alarm
“You people are crazy, and will do yourself harm.”
 
“Playing on a court so soaked by the rain
Will lead to a fall, broken bone or a sprain.”
 
“I once knew a guy who was reckless like you
And now, he can’t play for a month, maybe two.”
 
“We’ll go easy,” you say. “And pretend we’re on ice
And for balls out of reach, we’ll let them bounce twice.”
 
But you know in your heart, words are easy to say
And no tellin’ what you’ll do when a ball comes your way
 
You might lunge, dash or leap – contorting your torso
And that just might get you to a trip to the ortho
 
But you’re out there now in the soft, falling rain
And the sun keeps hinting it’ll be back again
 
The clouds in the sky at your feet now, reflecting
And this is no time, for pickleball rejecting
 
So, you bounce the ball twice and say to your crew,
“Be careful now you guys; It’s zero, zero, two.”