The Poetry Of Basketball Poem by Hm. Nes

All alone in the gym tonight-
Too early I guess for a game.
But the smells are here,
And in the silence I can even hear the sounds-
The shouts, the squeak of shoes on the floor.
Then the guys start to come-
One, two, three at a time.
One, three, six, seven, ten-
We've got ten; let's shoot for teams.
I'll guard the guy with the 'Bulls' shirt;
Who does he think he is, Michael Jordan?
I'm Michael Jordan.
And so we begin:
The dribble, the steal, the pass, the shot,
The rebound, the put back, the foul.
And over and over and over again-
Every time different, but each time the same.
I love the poetry of the game.