A Table Tennis Playing Leopard

Leopard, leopard, leaping, leaping
Snarling, gasping, forehand reaping
Catching thigh on sharp table corner
Sore limbs scream for Physio Lorna
Backhand speeding, super-swerving
Rivals’ mouths glint quite unnerving
As points stack up against us two
Leopard snarls in this human zoo.

No longer a leopard of seventeen
Many long years now lie between
That make this sweating carcass grunt
Mostly bested by some flashy runt
Who, had he met me in my silky prime
Would feel the pace of leopard’s time
A burning foot stokes leaden reaction
Removing all thought of satisfaction.

And yet the thrill of the ping-pong table
Draws back the leopard to play with Mabel
To win some flashing points on occasion
With a once-an-evening point sensation
That sets the partner shyly all a-twitter
And fires leopard’s tawny eyes a-glitter
To fly the body back some twenty years
Replacing rivals’ hidden jeers with fears.

The leopard’s spots they have never changed
It’s just the musculature that’s rearranged
Mighty sinew and splendid dancing claws
That used to harvest spontaneous applause
Have crept unnoticed towards lesser powers
And all is revealed during ping-pong hours
Once mighty leopard of the table tennis table
Accept thy fate with such good grace as thou art able!

(A poem addressed to all those sporting heroes making a belated return
to the sport they previously graced with such leopard-like distinction!)