surest route to victory.”
“It seems so out of place,
“Not ladylike,” the mother joined
In conversation, cold, disconnected,
Somehow from her flesh and blood,
She analyzed the attitudes of both
Her oldest and herself. Three girls
She’d spawned when all he ever wanted
Was a son. Now all that joking with
A ball comes home to roost on Thursday
Nights and Fridays of the season.
“You play with girls the
Way you play with boys and what
You get is basketball.” The father
Squelched his smile.
“And yet is not
Possible to watch her moves
Beneath the rim and think that
She belongs in any other place
Than on the edge of violation
Waiting for the chance to twist
Her frame and jump, acrobatics
In mid-air. I’ve tried it;
Vertical; a thing a parent
Cannot do! It’s only after
Things are over, and I go down
To hug her sweating shoulders
That I wonder most of all
What it is of basketball
So captivates the purpose
Of existence. I’m in the
Kitchen fixing soups; she’s on
The driveway shooting hoops.”
“And she does her flirting
With disaster on the balls your
Daughter passed her,” grinned the
Father nodding to the lioness
who returned his smile.
(Forward)
Initiator’s turn to choose
The next whose view would
Be upon the table for dis-
Cussion and commisery. So
With a beer and flourish, he
Pops the tab its gaseous
Relief familiar to the one who
Paced, never stumbling on the
Hearth, a long ellipse in neutral
Carpet, by the fireplace he
Crushed the soldier dead and quickly
Put another in its stead, rapid
Sucking ‘fore the foam
Soiled their hostess’ vacuumed home,
The forum on this winter eve
That all who enter never leave
But pay their way in conversation
To the master of this house
And his wife the lioness.
“Money is what
Basketball brings to this
Community; money at the door
Money at the store where only
Weeks ago my Mastercharge did
Choke and gag upon the price of
shoes!”
“Now of a kind they were, my
Dear,” the wife reminded him,
“That hold her ankles firm in place
As dashing through the traffic
She assaults the rim.”
“Yes, but need they
Be so fancy? Curved edges cost
So much? Why are they all so
Necessary? Is it, can it, only
Be, the forces multiplied by ‘g’
That work against my daughter’s
Legs? It’s that tiny bit of curve
I’m told, along the edges of the
Sole, that takes the impact of
Her leap when it Earthward comes to
Claim its price upon the way she
Walks to class the following day,
That makes the choice unconsciously
To flip support beneath instead of
Turning traitor to her wishes for
The layup into points to further
Gild her reputation as the highest
Scoring forward in the league.
Such a piece of grand design
Upon an item lowly
Stomped upon the floor each night!
And still I think, if only
They did not cost so much!
Red and blue and white
The colors of her country
Are the specially constructed
Uppers, laced so carefully around
Her second pair of socks. They’re
Marked with her initials! Like
The kneepads that she wears!
The mark has nothing else to
Do but make her feel professional
With a felt-tipped pen she writes
Two letters and the periods that
Separate the symbols of her name
Upon the property that’s hers for
Going nightly into war that they
Conduct among the lines and circles.
I read S.I. so faithfully and
Do discover what it is that makes
Her mark her belongings so, she
Never does with nicer things, only
Kneepads, socks, and bag
Bear the in-group sign: that’s
How they do it in the leagues
of men.
I see their pictures—on the
Bench with scattered towels they
Use a bunch each minute of a
Frantic time—and each has
Markings on his knee, initials
For the laun-der-y
Never go to court
Without an elemen’try sort
Of superstition, could we?
No. The answer’s clear.
Could I have another beer?”
Refueled he hurtled through the night
With his thoughts of those who shared
The screaming tumult greeting all
The fans that chose to gather there
In high school gyms’ ungodly dins
The bands exploded into fight
On each and every conf’rence night
As from the dressing room they
Came in single file around the
Floor and bouncing pompoms showed
The crowd the way to yell while
His daughter led the pack with
Thund’ring dribbles, pumping hearts
Right hand, left hand, behind
Her back then flipped a firey
Bounce pass to
Her friend and partner Mary Lou.
They never shared an ounce of time
Except along the home court baseline
And in the halls between their classes
With their eyes reviewed the passes
Made for working as a team
Scoring plays that seemed routine
Kickout blockout get the rebound
From the skirmish of the backboard
Mary Lou and then his daughter
Fought the good fight for each other
But late at night they hit the sack
A universe apart; they lacked the
Geographic culture ties that bound
Some forward pairs together.
Mary Lou was black.
(Forward)
What was this child of broken home
Poorer section down between
The mainline of the Burlington
And Northern doing in the suburbs
Fair? Her fingers put her there.
Not the ones with which she felt
The roughened surface
Of the ball she pounded to the floor
Or stole with cunning quick finesse
Their special brand of full court press
But the ones which as a child
She’d taken pencil then to paper
And turned the lines upon themselves
To gain control the way she did
With everything that came her way
Amid the heated rivalry
She now enjoyed as daily traveled
To a culture not envisioned
Any more than starting guards
Who never had to work at all
Whose fathers bought them basketballs
&nb
sp; Instead of left them in the street
To find their places, make their route
Torn by evolutionary forces
Working in the concrete wildness
Finding refuge in a home
A mother tried so hard to make by
Service as a janitor.
Through the night she saved the paper
Tossed by those executives
Into the files from every which
Escape was lost except as Mabel
Read her girl-child’s new desires
And salvaged all the stuff she could:
Contracts old, in legal style,
Mis-printed forms their language
Stuffed with education in itself
for Mary Lou.
But the girl
Ignored the front and con-
Centrated on the back, which
Then became the front by virtue
Of her hands’ true mark attack
With pencil broken as her life
And those of all her brothers
She bent the lines in imagery
Abstractions of her friends and
Neighbors. By the time she’d
Reached eleven it was obvious
She’d been given gifts beyond
Resources strained of an
Inner city school.
Special help: she was gifted.
So they arranged a transfer to
A place where she could receive
All the program had to offer
No intention to deceive
At high school conference never made
Mention of her other talents.
They brought her to the new affluence
Let her walk the hallowed halls
Lavished her with art supplies:
Brushes, ink, and basketballs.
Basketballs?
Yes; it took a week
For Mary Lou to hit a peak.
Back at home they cried a foul
Spun their hands symbolic protest
Scuttled now their championship
But her mother stood beside her
Strong and tearful as she handled
Bristol board and Strathmore fine
Mary Lou had taken special time
To bring her, leave upon the
Table, for her to find in afternoon
Waking from her all night labor
As she dressed and cooked again
Before her journey into suites
Of bankers’ cloistered hierarchies.
In the winter afternoon, Mary Lou
Away at practice, Mabel rested
For a moment; and held the paper
softly.
Then she whispered “draw yo’ pictures, child!”
And at that instant way ‘cross town
Mary Lou was feeling down
For having missed some easy shots
There came a mysterious surge of strength
And Mary Lou raised up her chin
And said in angry whispers: some
Day Mama’ll never work again!
(Guard)
Such a calm and loving couple
Always last to join a fray
OR confrontation with the values
Leading lesser souls astray
From the freedom God and
Country—health and wealth
Were theirs a joy, for
After years of only-childness
Late in life they’d had a boy
Whose toddling chances always guided
Evenings out, commitments time and
Time again denied; baby sitters
Were a problem: neighbor girls
Had moved away, grown to college
Full time working, chasing lads
potential med school.
You’d think advantages accrue
To children of a pair like this
That rare indeed an evening out
Would