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.
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.)
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