The Spalding Suite show is over. A thank you to those who saw it. For those who didn't, it may tour again... hopefully with some changes and improvements. Before then I'm gonna start work on an even bigger basketball story and wanted to share with y'all one poem that didn't make it into Spalding Suite. Hope you like it:

 

The Gift
After Roger Robinson

When I had taken half the court
and left the lone-star-glory lurching
to pass you the ball, the lane clear 
for an easy layup, you slouched out
a lazy three and laughed, sheepish 
as the leather bounced out of play.
Had I described my years of sweat,
of swollen knees, hung breath rising 
towards the moon of my backyard basket
the dust-scuffing-doggedness of faking
against one's shadow to aim and fade -
away, listening for the net’s swish 
the ball flanked by nothing but air,
barely audible against the clattering
trains and I, committing to memory 
the arch-up/ pull-back/ release, arch-up/
pull-back/ release, arch-up/ pull-back/ 
while, threatening this sacred of flows,
the staccato-fisted-selfishness of car horns
battering much like these trolls we fight, 
these winged giants who foul like ogres,
they’ve made a dancer of me (to best them 
I twirled, plied, split, risked team fouls 
and shot clock to pass you the ball)
had I detailed years of sacrifice, 
perhaps then you might have walked 
my gift safely down the lane, its smooth
skin to kiss the glass backboard 
and float into the hoop, even if 
you didn't want to.

 

Thanks for reading, here is a link to the full script.

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