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I may be the only one
on the court to wear
beat up running shoes recommended
by my doctor for my weary knees.

The rest of the guys
wear younger shoes
in more colorful hues
like white and yellow
or black and red

and attached to their shoes
are names like Melo
or Jordan or Lebron or Kobe,
while my name is basic,
my shoes simply a pair of Aasics.

And they make pretty plays
in their pretty shoes-
for they do not fear to lose
because they forgot to box out
or they are too busy on the offensive end, a pout
preventing them from transition d.

But who needs defense,
when you look so pretty?
Just need shoes, the right color, the rights hues
and a name to fit thee.

Pickup Speak

There are many things
one hears
between the bouncing of the basketball,
some are light, little notes
the player gives himself,
like "follow-through,"
or "box-out,"

most often,
these notes are during a bad day-
and quickly become "C'mon Billy!"
or they begin to blame their opponents,
"What the fuck, Collins!
Ease off me," they say,
calling a foul.

Then there are the point guards,
always the encouragers on offense,
saying "nice shot!" or "good re!"
to their teammates,
and also calling for a
"pick and roll," or "pick and pop."

And on defense it is the bigs,
warning "pick left,"
or "give him help,"
or "box out!"
to the guards who allow their man
to get into the paint and steal the rebound.

Then there are the Ray Allens of the court,
who run around endlessly,
whose defender the bigs on defense have to warn
of picks, whose point guard can no longer tell him
"nice shot!" because of the sheer energy it takes
to shout that so many times,
and Jesus Shuttlesworth
running around the court with those soft footsteps,
the only talking he does
when the ball kisses the net.

One Last Shot

All I will ask god
before I go
is for one last shot,
one last dribble
and one last foe.


Think not it selfish
but think it whole,
this person I have become
in one last go.


Think not it fair,
but think it even,
this hardwood we travel on-
on our last road.


And think not it life,
but think it a game
and give us a foe
we cannot, we would not,
we will not blame.

You can see my other poetry selections at http://www.aroseintheconcrete.blogspot.com/.


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Out on the Court

I have a 5 a.m. date with the hardwood,

where the ball pounds the floor

like the intensity of jilted lovers
after a fight.

I cannot tell whether the clatter

originates from my feet

or the echo of my handle.

One lover does not end

where another begins,

like the palm that’s part of the ball.

(You can see my other poetry selections at aroseintheconcrete.blogspot.com.)

I have provided you with valuable information and innovative content I took a long time to create. Can you do me the huge favor of getting free e-mail or RSS updates by subscribing?