Richard has been banned from the club

They removed his hole-in-one ball from display,
even before the salad fork had been pried from the wall.
Now, only stained upholstery and warped wall board
mark the spot–where Walker and Beem came to blows.
The waitress waits patiently to provide her statement.
A nine iron rests upon the mahogany bar, bent: Exhibit A.
Elaine—her face, the color of her bright tennis skirt,
refuses treatment. “I must have slipped,” she says.
“Dear Dickie wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Then, with a gasp, “Good God, the shards of glass!”
The poor valet, quakes in his white shorts and red vest.
The exit still vivid. Black streaks of rubber,
scorched — into painted concrete, evidence of retreat in haste.
Richard has been banned from the club.