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?