Occurrence on Washburn Avenue

Alice's first strike gets a pat on the back,   
her second a cheer from Betty Woszinski   
who's just back from knee surgery.   Her third—   
"A turkey!" Molly calls out—raises everyone's eyes.   
They clap.   Teresa looks up from the bar.   
At the fourth the girls stop seeing their own pins wobble.   
They watch the little X's fill the row on Alice's screen—   
That's five.   That's six.   There's a holy space   
around her like a saint come down to bowl   
with the Tuesday Ladies in Thorp, Wisconsin.   
Teresa runs to get Al, and Fran calls Billy   
at the Exxon.   The bar crowds with silent men.   
No one's cheering.   No one's bowling now   
except Alice's team, rolling their balls   
to advance the screen around to Alice, who's stopped   
even her nervous laugh, her face blank and smooth   
with concentration.   It can't go on   
and then it does go on, the white bar   
reading "Silver Dollar Chicken" lowering and clearing   
nothing, then lowering and clearing nothing again.

Poem copyright ©2008 by Regan Huff and reprinted from the "Beloit Poetry Journal," Vol. 59, no. 1, by permission of Regan Huff and the publisher.