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The Foul Shot

As the lights become dim— The wood floor Becomes my driveway. People descending, slowly, One by one. The walls fade out into dark green trees. The tips of my toes A toothpick away from the bold black line. Fifteen feet from the circular orange rim. Three dribbles. One, Two, Three. Inhaling as much air possible, Exhaling With a heavy heart. The loud beautiful beat in the chest becoming steady Once again. The red faced players. The huffing and puffing next to me. I spin the ball through my fingers. Anticipating the whisper Of the whistle. Looking at the stopped clock. One more breath. I Release. Closed eyes and a focused mind Waiting For the sound. Swish.

The Foul Shot

As the lights become dim— The wood floor Becomes my driveway. People descending, slowly, One by one. The walls fade out into dark green...

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