What We are Accustomed To

Bob, ,

You are alone at night at the basketball
Court, that is disused and without netting, no one
Knows you are here, and you have chalk,
Sidewalk chalk, and draw pigeons and crows
And accompany these with sci-fi verses,
Avoiding the puddles or
Intersecting with the graffiti where someone
Spun the rustle of summer
Trees on the black top. You say something like,
The clouds reckon the stars
That reckon the earthworms that reckon
The tides that reckon the swaths of spinning mass
And gaseous twirls of the galaxies.
In accordance with the veers and volleys, splats and soars.
Before you leave,
In black marker, down the pole that supports
The backboard, you write,
The falling rain, like an untuned guitar,
Does not care what we are accustomed to.

18 thoughts on “What We are Accustomed To”

    1. Thanks John. Lately I think we’ve been on similar planes. Like Dogs of Alberton, this came to me from walking around the neighborhood. There are a lot of disused basketball courts and playground near me. Kind of desolate, but there some beauty there if you stop and look.

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  4. This is incredibly beautiful, as Sunra said, Bob. I have read it 3 times and it sits in my head afterwards like the kind of aftertaste you never want to go away. Those last 2 lines are blow-me-away gorgeous but the whole poem supports them. It is mystical and yet so real in the disused basketball court. I love the detail you mix in about where the “you” character is making marks. And the lines “where someone/sput the rustle of summer / trees on the black top.” Magnificent!

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    1. Thank you!!! I really appreciate your kind words. I mentioned to John, there are a lot of disused basketball courts and playgrounds around me. A little depressing, but some beauty if you stop and look. I’m so glad you liked the ending. Thanks!

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  5. Your poem conjures an intriguing scenario … I love the idea of using a disused basketball court at night as a canvas, and you supply sci-fi verses of galaxies. The writing in marker on the pole reminds me of hearing that Basquiat wrote verses in NYC on walls, I think it was early in his career. I’d be delighted to walk by a basketball court and see such artwork as you’ve described.

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    1. Thanks Dave! I know some of Basquiat’s paintings. And new he started with street art. But didn’t now about the verses. I’m very intrigued and will see if I can find some of those verse, if any remain.

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  8. Ain’t nothing like an abandoned basketball court, rims with no nets…..great fodder to daydream. I’m reminded me of when there are nets and they happen to be chain nets, the metallic swish sound when a basket is made is unforgettable. Great work, as always Bob.

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      1. I wonder if these days it would provide the same thrill, that hearing a chain swish? I’ve been rereading a baseball book and the author talks about what a thrill it was to walk across the outfield grass and how he became numb to that sensation after so many years. Kind of sad, but darn tooting true.

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