by Zachery Brackett
Sha’nell killed himself,
But not before schooling me
On game point
On that beaten down
Court, that blasted pavement
Melting into the grass.
That’s how I see him now,
Sparkling in a York summer,
Sweat bouncing off the pavement
In a mist as he faked left
But went right so smooth it was as if
He had been doing it in the womb,
Toes of red Jordan’s just barely tilted,
Calves tightened like full balloons,
Ankles holding
Together for dear life,
Ball suspended between
Earth and sky as he took his shot, unprotested.
No comments:
Post a Comment