“Untitled 357”

They got the kid

For pacing up and down the sideline

When the ball was nowhere near —

Technical foul, one shot for the other team.


The kid was in a long-sleeve t-shirt

And it was his first time being

On cable TV in his entire life.


I thought of the man in uniform,

How it might be a slug-like metamorphosis

Into the impetus to cage,

To trap heat and light,

To kill it,

And my mind filled with rage.


Then they showed the kid sitting on the bench

With his teammates,

Face plastered in a 16-tooth smile

And loud, quick chatter all around

As the ball

On the other side of the court

Graced front iron,

Then back iron,

Then ejected out the front of the cylinder

To bounce on the floor.


And the phone companies

And departments of treasury

And skin machine

Might still win

But that was pretty fu**ing cool.

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