You're not sick was the last
thing I said to my son, six,
before he barfed across
the gymnasium floor. Seems
he was sick. Did you happen
to see? Tonight was the first
practice, tomorrow the real
thing, though no one knows
how to dribble or defend.
In time, I guess, it comes
together—Michael or Lebron
strides forward, palming
the ball. If there is a God
I think first practice is how
she sees us, as though chased
by bees as we run and juke
into and out of the puke.