Fast Break

In Memory of Dennis Turner, 1946 -1984

*

A hook shot kisses the rim and

hangs there, helplessly, but doesn’t drop

*

and for once our gangly starting center

boxes out his man and times his jump

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perfectly, gathering the orange leather

from the air like a cherished possession

*

and spinning around to throw a strike

to the outlet who is already shoveling

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an underhand pass toward the other guard

scissoring past a flat-footed defender

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who looks stunned and nailed to the floor

in the wrong direction, turning to catch sight

*

of a high, gliding dribble and a man

letting the play develop in front of him

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in slow motion, almost exactly

like a coach’s drawing on the blackboard,

*

both forwards racing down the court

the way that forwards should, fanning out

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and filling the lanes in tandem, moving

together as brothers passing the ball

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between them without a dribble, without

a single bounce hitting the hardwood

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until the guard finally lunges out

and commits to the wrong man

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while the power-forward explodes past them

in a fury, taking the ball into the air

*

by himself now and laying it gently

against the glass for a layup

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but losing his balance in the process,

inexplicably falling, hitting the floor

*

with a wild, headlong motion

for the game he loved like a country

*

and swiveling back to see an orange blur

floating perfectly through the net.

*

From “Motion: American Sports Poems,” edited by Noah Blaustein (University of Iowa Press: 250 pp., $15.95 paper)