Summer

The sun blisters down on my dad and I.

Firmly gripping the ball between my hands,

I pivot to remove myself from reach.

I dribble with sureness toward the hoop.

Dad, cutting me off, stops me with an ease.

Pulling up short, I freeze, ball in my hands.

Our game of one on one has reached a pause.

In the silence, I jump and take my shot.

My shot soars towards the hoop, and misses.

In that instant, my father reacted.

Jumping into the air, he grabs the ball.

Landing, he squares up with the orange hoop.

With his form perfect, he launches the ball.

The ball flies through the hoop, net undisturbed.