7 Sports Haiku

The child's bowling ball.
Slowly it rolls to a halt.
He still wants no help.


A game of dodge ball.
One by one
We fall like soldiers.


Running the track.
It stretches on and on.
I fall behind.


With the chosen club I swing.
That white ball remains
And only dirt is flying.


He slides into home.
A cloud of dust engulfs him.
It clears: he is safe.


Playing by the woods.
We pass and steal and score.
Are the trees watching?


I dribble the ball
And without warning he comes
To snatch it away.