PLAYING BALL

Kudos to the fellas in Oakland who have played Monday night pickup together for 50 years and managed to put together EVERY MONDAY NIGHT, a pretty good short film about their hooping and friendship. I was a mere 40 years old when I wrote PLAYING BALL, a short poem about feeling too old to play the way I used to. I kept playing sporadically, with a mix of people my own age and a whole lot younger. To keep going into their 70s and 80s, these West Coast boys had to keep out young men for self-preservation.

PLAYING BALL

Playing ball with 18 year-olds
And I’m feeling slow,
Slower than global warming
Or paycheck days at Chase
Slower than my mother,
Just plain slow.

Hit a few shots,
Now I’m thinking
I can still do this
Yes I can,
Use my guile, use my gut
Use my man
Like a past history slut.

But there he goes,
Who goes?
Where?
My man?
Was that him?
Blowing by me again
On his way to the rim.