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2019-06-06, poems


I asked a guy at a basketball court if
I could get his rebounds. Not shoot
around, just rebound the ball and
pass it back to him, so he can get more
reps in—and hopefully make some shots.

Clearly, this is not a common question—
I guess helping a complete stranger
practice his sport is a bit weird, I admit
but he said yes anyway.

We had a bit of a conversation, and he
even had me shoot around for a bit while
he got my rebounds. I missed many shots
but then went on a streak of four or five.
Thank goodness—I proved I had some
semblance of skill with a basketball.

TJ and I parted ways, me in a mild sweat
in the same clothes I wore to the office, and
him off to who knows where. 

I’d like to tell you that my evening walk would
have been better if I’d have gone shopping,
bought a cool new jacket, or met a cute girl
from some far away land who is going to 
school and otherwise uninteresting, but pretty.

But that was not the case today. Getting to
shoot around a basketball like I used to do
back home meant more than any of the new
things in the world.