for Arnold Gold, 1922-98

I am certain

that if I heckled you

long enough, chuckling sarcastically,

supplying a few particulars,

you would eventually recall

those final games of one-on-one,

the two of us alone

in that schoolyard in Rego Park.

 

You brought your A game that day,

the lickety-split moves

in the paint, the soft touch,

playing better than I’d seen

all winter & spring.

 

You took two-out-of-three

& I, somewhat bemused,

went off to my freshman year.

 

When I returned

basketball was no longer

a metaphor for things

I had yet to experience

or comprehend.

 

Older now

than you were

that afternoon, I admit

I thought about owning up

to not playing my hardest.

 

And as for you?

Well, what are the odds?