Dream Poem For My Father

Dream Poem

For My Father

In this dream

my father is thirteen

and dribbling his

basketball

he is skinny

and his high-tops,

Converse All-Stars,

grind pine needles

into the concrete

of my grandparents'

driveway

as he sets a pick

and rolls away

from his imagined

opponent

he is talking

to himself

pick 'n roll pick

'n roll

don't give 'em

the baseline

the base line, David

up, up, heads up

rebound!

on offence

he takes the ball

past the second crack

darting, dribbling

behind his back

between his legs

head up, head up

fake right

'n spin

up the middle lay-

up, score!

It's eleven years

before we will meet

but in this dream

I am twelve

and across the road

watching

Whatcha know?

he asks

between breaths

Not much

I say

Well I kin show you

a move or two

he smiles

a wide toothy grin

Let's see what

you got

and the invitation

spins

from his fingertips

into mine