Pancho Segura was a small in stature
Ecuadorian who became a feisty competitor
on the tennis courts of the 1950s. His signature
two-fisted ambidextrous strokes were honed to
a degree of perfection that
intimidated his competitors.
 
Childhood rickets bowed his legs, but 
never stunted his indomitable spirit.
Tennis contemporaries like Jack Kramer
and Pancho Gonzales were in awe of his 
blistering forehand. The accuracy of his 
backhand was spot-on.
 
As a chubby, awkward, pre-teen, Segura
reminded me of the childhood tale of
“The Little Engine That Could,” portrayed 
anthropomorphically by the words, “I think
I can, I think I can.” 
 
As I watched Segura’s sheer grit on the court,
my own determination became a stubborn mule
pulling that plow of practice for hours on end. 
I think I can.
I did.
                        

My favorite meat is her
dog, was how I read the 
sentence. Horrified, I looked
again, at the word.

My eyes and brain transposed
hot dog to her dog. Reading an
article on the sad dilemma of bees,
and colony collapse, I read the phrase
as, context collapse.

Reading a racy novel, the word, 
profound, jumped out at me
On closer inspection, profound 
became profane.

Combining my mistakes could be fun.
Her dog and context collapse are issues
that seem either profane or insane.