~DANIEL HENRY~

JUMPSHOTS IN THE DARK

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Winter nights in Indiana
we played with gloves
in my driveway cleared of snow,
high school games
on the radio.
Tonight, breathing hard,
an empty gym in late March,
I gauge each shot
by cracks in that driveway
sold years ago;
I clang all of them,
spin the turnaround
off the base of the rim,
run down the ball
to keep it
from crossing black lines.

There are sweeping metaphors
to be drawn here;
talk about continuity,
about loss and the chase
of a ball—I could say I make
most long set shots
after whispering lines of poetry;
it would be true and irrelevant,
true and useless.

I feel too old now for metaphors;
there is, always, a soft bounce
back into my hands, and when
I am distracted by love
or Stafford or Merwin,
the long sweet
snap/swish/bounce
somewhere off in the darkness.
 
 

© by Daniel Henry