Dribbling around a wagon or a chair
was as good as having an opponent
except for the reach, but a broom
placed with wide end out could prove
an arm or hand meant to steal a ball.
I learned to dribble on the grass, on the gravel
of a grist mill with a hoop posted flat
against the board and batten, kept
a spare ball inside in warmth in winter
to trade for the first ball deflated by the cold.
My father told me to always work
on my passing, hitting the chalked-up silhouette
of a player on the side of the mill,
that I could assist many more times
in life than I would score.
Jeff Burt, yourdailypoem.com, January 21, 2020
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