by Lisa A. Brown
A ball bounces on a dimly lit court
Weeds and dandelions sprout from the crevices of cracked concrete Under rusted bleachers corroded by rain
Hundreds of cigarette butts dirty needles empty bottles of malt liquor Congregate like childhood friends
Laughing and reminiscing about days gone by
Blueberry Yum Yum by Ludacris blares from JBL portable speakers
He’s practiced on this court for six years never missing a day Rated number one point guard in the nation
College coaches hungrily recruit him
He dreams of playing for the Lakers buying his mama a house
He leans forward laces his Air Jordans
Wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand He sprints up the court stands behind the chalk drawn three-point line Adrenaline pumping feet shoulder-width apart bends knees slightly Eyes intent gazes at the target—the front of the rim Raises ball above his head skillfully uses left hand to guide the ball Right elbow angled at 90 degrees flicks wrist
Lifts from the ground releases ball
As it soars through the air with the velocity of a turkey vulture A bevy of gunshots echoes against the dead of night
The ball sinks through the net swish
He slumps onto the court.
Pegasus 