Victory

Hoops

 

Boredom crouches on his ten-year-old shoulders,

both left and right

Little devils that hiss and spit discontent

 

He is a little asshole, in his big sister’s words,

tapping his microphone

Click, click, click, click, click-click

Click

to wrestle his brain and wreck the Zoom class.

 

He mocks his online math tutor,

trolls synchronous Zoom meetings,

Hates, hates, click. click click click. Click.

 

He makes us feel

Irritation,  

carry his cross,

share the spite

 

Except on the hardwood court

Under the hoop,

Balls and feet drown out

his internal censor

He is on the run

His brain calculates

the angle of a shot,

distance over time of a pass

high in the air,

launched full speed

at his hands

on the run toward the goal

his breath thick inside his mask, 

The buzzer, the clock, the score

parents six feet down the sideline.

 

He runs until a sidestich cripples him, then runs some more. He is good on defense.

 

Suddenly a teammate falls, clutches a shin.

I look down at my phone and then lookup

And there is my asshole kid

On a knee

his back to me, number 11.

9 boys kneel around the fallen athlete.

 

There is my son.

 I know it’s the first time

He has been pulled into this gesture.

I feel his puzzlement.

I see his compliance.

This is why I am here, alone, in my knock-off N95 face mask.

This is why I drove to New Hampshire.

To sit on the floor in an airless gym, hot with the sweat of pandemic,

Surrounded by hard-breathing boys and girls

 

For this moment, my restless boy,

becomes

still, more than who he was.

He stopped the constant motor and

does nothing, nothing, nothing,

but kneel.

 

Losing by twenty points,

victory.

We laugh all the way home. So glad.