In Memory of Dennis Turner, 1946-1984 <br /> <br /> <br />A hook shot kisses the rim and <br />hangs there, helplessly, but doesn't drop, <br /> <br />and for once our gangly starting center <br />boxes out his man and times his jump <br /> <br />perfectly, gathering the orange leather <br />from the air like a cherished possession <br /> <br />and spinning around to throw a strike <br />to the outlet who is already shoveling <br /> <br />an underhand pass toward the other guard <br />scissoring past a flat-footed defender <br /> <br />who looks stunned and nailed to the floor <br />in the wrong direction, trying to catch sight <br /> <br />of a high, gliding dribble and a man <br />letting the play develop in front of him <br /> <br />in slow motion, almost exactly <br />like a coach's drawing on the blackboard, <br /> <br />both forwards racing down the court <br />the way that forwards should, fanning out <br /> <br />and filling the lanes in tandem, moving <br />together as brothers passing the ball <br /> <br />between them without a dribble, without <br />a single bounce hitting the hardwood <br /> <br />until the guard finally lunges out <br />and commits to the wrong man <br /> <br />while the power-forward explodes past them <br />in a fury, taking the ball into the air <br /> <br />by himself now and laying it gently <br />against the glass for a lay-up, <br /> <br />but losing his balance in the process, <br />inexplicably falling, hitting the floor <br /> <br />with a wild, headlong motion <br />for the game he loved like a country <br /> <br />and swiveling back to see an orange blur <br />floating perfectly though the net.<br /><br />Edward Hirsch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fast-break/
