Foul Shot By: Edwin A. Hoey
With two 60s stuck on the scoreboard
And two seconds hanging on the clock,
The solemn boy in the center of eyes,
Squeezed by silence,
Seeks out the line with his feet,
Soothes his hands along his uniform,
Gently drums the ball against the floor,
Then measures the waiting net,
Raises the ball on his right hand,
Balances it with his left,
Calms it with fingertips,
Breathes,
Crouches,
Waits,
And then through a stretching of stillness,
Nudges it upward.
The ball
Slides up and out,
Lands,
Leans,
Wobbles,
Wavers,
Hesitates,
Exasperates,
Plays it coy
Until every face begs with unsounding screams—
And then
And then
And then,
Right before ROAR-UP,
Dives down and through.
1 response so far ↓
1
Liza
// Apr 16, 2009 at 12:51 pm
This poem has a thrill to it that comes with its use of one-worded lines. It interested me how so much suspense and story can come from this way of writing it. And, I liked it. I knew exactly how this person was feeling because I have taken a foul shot in a game before. He expresses it really well.
But, I still don’t exactly see the shape in the lines.
Also, Mr. Kanach I have written more on my peom post because I had more ideas. I don’t know if it notifies you to editting done on posts.
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