The discolored worn leather makes
for a better story. Cutting my hands
and diving for you on the hot asphalt made
my therapy at first appear dangerous,
but nothing else matters when it is
me and you. Timeouts rarely helped,
because time in this game counts
and sometimes runs out when
when the ball drops. The clock is watched
and clicks slower when I have
you in-between my dedicated hands.
Escaping to the hardwood with you
to the dust-filled court made my
problems seem miniscule. The pressurized
leather circle of hope eliminates stress
and shoots any doubt down through
a safety net weaved together by
individual strands working as a team.
Across the floor I cannot see anyone
and the path is clear, can I trust
my team mate to perform under stress?
The question is important because
someone can take you to the top
and others will make you quit
and miss. You give and receive attention,
but it betters me in the end. You provide
answers to questions that confuse me.
On Sundays, or on vacation miles away,
I find your home, bring your circular body
and forget the reasons that brought me there.
I pull the trigger and burn the nylon,
glow in the dark or chained, You have the
scent of waxed wood and years of history
that was built by people in situations
only you’re familiar with. The scar on
my left eyebrow is proof of how much
of an impact you left on me.
Dreaming I was on the team that treated
you the best. You wanted me when others didn’t
and that is why I continue to use you.
You have brought many friendships
and a valid reason to ditch
a Math or Science class early. Legends
once used you as a tool to make it out,
make it in, or be someone in the world.
And when I think about our relationship,
all I can do is smile because of the long walks,
brisk jogs, and exhausting sprints we did.
I place you in my hands and close my eyes,
say a few words before I throw you towards
the back of the iron, putting it all at the line.
And when I hold my hand high and
my breath long, I know I won because I
as I took a shot, I let go.