The basketball hoops
don’t come down all the way,
the strings are loose,
pulled by slam-dunking fingers.
I gave each upperclassman a nickname:
There was nothing better to do.
Mutant Asian’s got to be
seven feet tall, so high he can easily
scoop Peanut up in his arms
and put him through that ragged hoop.
Their feet stampeded on the old gym floor
toward the opposite basket,
and I ran a commentary of the game
through my head
while not knowing anything
at all about basketball,
only that I wanted
the underdogs to win.