The ball winds the rope like a long tongue licking the pole.

Feline tether flypaper ambiguities

on a grade school playground:

Stealthy psychology to this game?

It doesn’t capture much fervor.

Boys are super aggressive, girls like to volley!

Hit your own ball again after they miss it

to slip it above them and wrap it up for victory.

Doodoo Brown’s serve was our sly strategy.

But tether ball was a leonine ruse, like a cat’s tail.

Pauses in action distracted the recess supervisor

who was supposed to track us.

From the purring circle of tether fans around the pole

we could slink into the raspy papillae briars at the playground edge

and do forbidden, invisible adolescent exertions.

Retractile, and invisible even after the recess bell is sounded.

Will they miss us? It is so exciting in the bushes.

Wikipedia

Until I wrote this poem, I never thought of tetherball as erotic, but now I know that it was. We fueled our lust out there.