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  • Ben Thomas

Golf Ball

Little green golf ball, where did you come from? Discarded or possibly lost, why are you sitting at the side of the road? A mystery made up of mostly plastic and rubber. Bright green amongst sun-dried brown grass, the ball stood out to me as I passed by. I’m about ten minutes away from home as I return from another short walk across Banbury. I’ve travelled over two miles today before reaching the resting spot of this mysterious dimpled discovery.


Sat on the edge of a newly built road, the ball rests soundlessly. I pick it up and feel the texture of it. It’s lightweight and strangely cold. Chilled from sitting in the shadows for an unknown period. I fondle the ball in my hands and hundreds of dimples tickle my fingertips. It has the name Wilson adorned across it. I bounce it. Once, twice, three times. I catch it each time. It makes a little popping sound as it hits the floor. I look around, to see if anyone is to suddenly come and claim the little green golf ball. But nobody appears. I try to deduce where it came from. Tossed too far by a child playing with it in a nearby house? I pilfer the ball and place it within my shorts’ pockets – filling them for the first time on this walk as I am without phone or wallet.


Little green golf ball, where will you go next? I will take you home as a toy for our pet cats, but how long will you remain there? Perhaps you will escape and be found in the mound of dirt outside my house – only to be plucked from the ground and pocketed by the next passer-by.

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