Simply put the ball into the hole.
It's right in front of you,
Three yards at most;
A mulligan.
Simply put your hand into the bag
Withdraw the putter,
Turn it around.
Simply put the head upon the ground,
And swing.
Not too hard,
Don't overstep the mark.
Let it flow.
Let it go
Across pristine cut grass,
Restricted for use of the upper middle class.
Clubhouses foie gras stuffing their asses.
Travelling in carts as slow as molasses,
Because they won't walk the course.
Caddies carrying your stuff,
Elitist tosh.
A sorry excuse for a sport.
You have to have dollars to walk through the door.
Pinnacle of privilege,
I can't watch no more.
And you're not allowed to hold up Tiger
As a symbol of diversity,
When the poor and people of colour
Are noted by their scarcity.
Simply put, I don't fucking like golf!
I like to actually exercise -
Walk wherever my feet may find

I prefer my fairways wild.

 

Angus Gallagher was born and raised in the culturally diverse region of Aston, Birmingham by his Irish immigrant parents. After studying physics and maths, he moved to Hong Kong in 2005, where he now works as a science and mathematics tutor and a part-time kindergarten teacher. He met his wife (and now mother of his two lovely children) at Peel Street Poetry almost ten years ago and has been honing his performance skills there ever since. He has participated in each of Peel Street's previous slams, but this is the first time he reached the final.