December 9, 2011


In the hospital,
sound down low,
my father watches
his team losing,
time running out,
the playoffs keeping him
going, hatred
of rivals still strong,
giving his pain a purpose.
They're driving, on the forty.
Plenty of time, he whispers,
his sheet rising slowly
and falling, an IV drip
in his old throwing arm,
he's in and out,
end of the season
the wasteland of
basketball waiting.