A Pair of Poems

The Missing Metaphor

In the January morning, he steps delicate over ice blanketed

walks, fresh snow-covered medians, and dog tracked lawns.

He bounces his basketball on the clear concrete court of the community

center and misses shot after shot; as if the basket is molded in bronze.

Finally, he follows the ball to the basket, rebounds it, and throws it

back up. The ball bounces off the rim then falls in but hangs up

in the still frozen net, as if it is part of a sculpture. Caught in a trap,

he looks at the ball just out of reach, stuck, hard-set.

In the January morning, he jumps and pops it up; then watches

the frozen net trap it six times in a row. With a nearby orange cone,

he pops up the ball without jumping. It bounces and goes back in again.

Cone in hand he pops it up and finally frees the trapped ball.

Then at the top of the key; he’s still no better than before.

Scoring when he wants to miss and missing when he wants to score.

A Blessing for Feet

Blessed

Blessed are

Blessed are feet

Blessed are Egyptian feet