...the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life...

Saturday, March 19, 2016

40. Capable

I feel capable: the ball just went through 
the hoop, from fifteen feet, just as the car 

I drove went through the plate glass 
below a sign for “The Net Café.”  

There I first learned, electronically,
you were leaving me, and the wave of rage

tailing me to my vehicle gave me strength
to follow through on the will to destroy.

I drank so many coffees in that place.
It’s hoops in the jailhouse, now,

as the song goes, where some days
in the yard a fierce wind blows ,

and the ball aimed at the rim 
is carried left or right by the unseen hand 

of geothermal dynamics. 
I’ve been reading here. The library’s free.

Since I slept through most of college, 
I thought I’d catch up. About feeling capable 

is where this began, and my jumper’s begun
even in wind to go where it’s meant to,

most of the time. I’ve never felt so good
as when I shoot the ball and it’s left my hand,

and I simply know. You’d be impressed,
with the feeling, if not the feat.

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