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Simple Tragedy

Simple Tragedy Barbara Smith Appalachian Heritage, Volume 8, Number 4, Fall 1980, pp. 40-44 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1980.0021 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/441594/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 23:16 GMT from JHU Libraries SIMPLE TRAGEDY by Barbara Smith He had been there all day, since before need to wipe it. Wedge—clotted with full light, and now it was almost dark divot from the pitch onto the seventeenth again. He was tired. green—a par. Then the nine-iron—just a "See you, Tom," someone called, and few blades of grass. Probably wasn't he turned. taking enough turf—no wonder the ball "Yeah," he called back, and then he wouldn't hold. Eight, seven. He skipped the six—never used it. There were few added, "Better luck next time!" He had shots on this course that ever called for a beaten Lou at both golf and poker. It six-iron. had been a profitable day. Tom propped the bag of clubs against "Don't you ever quit?" It was Jerry. the rear fender, then moved around to "Just about to," Tom smiled. "Com- ing out tomorrow?" open the trunk. The car was new—two- toned Skylark he'd bought right off the http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
2692-9244
eISSN
2692-9287

Abstract

Barbara Smith Appalachian Heritage, Volume 8, Number 4, Fall 1980, pp. 40-44 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1980.0021 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/441594/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 23:16 GMT from JHU Libraries SIMPLE TRAGEDY by Barbara Smith He had been there all day, since before need to wipe it. Wedge—clotted with full light, and now it was almost dark divot from the pitch onto the seventeenth again. He was tired. green—a par. Then the nine-iron—just a "See you, Tom," someone called, and few blades of grass. Probably wasn't he turned. taking enough turf—no wonder the ball "Yeah," he called back, and then he wouldn't hold. Eight, seven. He skipped the six—never used it. There were few added, "Better luck next time!" He had shots on this course that ever called for a beaten Lou at both golf and poker. It six-iron. had been a profitable day. Tom propped the bag of clubs against "Don't you ever quit?" It was Jerry. the rear fender, then moved around to "Just about to," Tom smiled. "Com- ing out tomorrow?" open the trunk. The car was new—two- toned Skylark he'd bought right off the

Journal

Appalachian ReviewUniversity of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 2014

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