The season only comes once a year,
Yet the Green Flash is always clear.
Racquets drop, and tempers fly,
All while the Green Flash passes by.
Golden lights over Washoe Park,
Some nights the flash would make its mark,
Faults are called, and lines are drawn,
Nets come down at the break of dawn.
Blood erupts as strings meet flesh,
The Green Flash falls in a mountain of mesh,
The match was enough to get me in,
The best of the best was set to begin.
I channel the greatness of Agassi and McEnroe,
I couldn’t be “just that Average Joe.”
The colorful glimmer of the Polson sky,
Had a Flathead glare as the Green Flash went by.
I could feel my dreams come to a close,
With defeat comes heartbreak, that’s how it goes.
One final sight I see of the Green Flash,
It all came to die in the Smelter City ash.