I don't remember who won that game. Probably you.
With relatives disparaged the morning after. Funny
the assignment list grew. Keep up appearances.
Guess who's coming for dinner.
The VHS player runs and an elaborate dinner enough
to keep each member's mind occupied until
the maintenance work is done and the stories are told,
at least the ones the little'uns are to learn from and
consciousness of the small sneakers and little hands
faded in to nostalgia and stories of work too large
for young eyes and hands to do and gossip too large
for restless smiles and darting evangelic eyes to track.
Pow pow!
Basketball hits stone outside and rolls to Tyrone's shoe.
Burgundy scrubs. A nurse.
Dad said you flipped a tank
and got kicked out of the army for it.
Can you hit it from across the street?
I haven't tried (I lied). A rubber skinned ball through a hoop
at 40 feet once. That car parked in the driveway of that guy
dad chats up sometimes that he's been trying to get to study group.
We're not supposed to be over there or something.
He's bad. Air ball. I swear, I did it once. I shovel his driveway
sometimes.
So your pops plays you?
No. I like to play by myself. Sometimes the neighbors play too.
Has he ever played you?
Yup, he always wins when he does, but he always cheats.
Here's what you have to do, okay? Layup swish.
There is a button.
Mhm.
Alright, shoot it.
That's not fair!
Just poke them right there! Right when their arms go up! Brick.
Belly button, man. Poke them in the belly button or low ribs! Brick.
No, that's stupid! That is so shitty!
Right in the ribs, man! Every time. Shoot it again, I know you're quicker!
See! Why you laughing, why you laughing, you know I got you! Shoot!
You going to try it on someone else?
Nope.
It's good to know though, right?
Yup. Giggle. Brick.
Alright, little man.
With relatives disparaged the morning after. Funny
the assignment list grew. Keep up appearances.
Guess who's coming for dinner.
The VHS player runs and an elaborate dinner enough
to keep each member's mind occupied until
the maintenance work is done and the stories are told,
at least the ones the little'uns are to learn from and
consciousness of the small sneakers and little hands
faded in to nostalgia and stories of work too large
for young eyes and hands to do and gossip too large
for restless smiles and darting evangelic eyes to track.
Pow pow!
Basketball hits stone outside and rolls to Tyrone's shoe.
Burgundy scrubs. A nurse.
Dad said you flipped a tank
and got kicked out of the army for it.
Can you hit it from across the street?
I haven't tried (I lied). A rubber skinned ball through a hoop
at 40 feet once. That car parked in the driveway of that guy
dad chats up sometimes that he's been trying to get to study group.
We're not supposed to be over there or something.
He's bad. Air ball. I swear, I did it once. I shovel his driveway
sometimes.
So your pops plays you?
No. I like to play by myself. Sometimes the neighbors play too.
Has he ever played you?
Yup, he always wins when he does, but he always cheats.
Here's what you have to do, okay? Layup swish.
There is a button.
Mhm.
Alright, shoot it.
That's not fair!
Just poke them right there! Right when their arms go up! Brick.
Belly button, man. Poke them in the belly button or low ribs! Brick.
No, that's stupid! That is so shitty!
Right in the ribs, man! Every time. Shoot it again, I know you're quicker!
See! Why you laughing, why you laughing, you know I got you! Shoot!
You going to try it on someone else?
Nope.
It's good to know though, right?
Yup. Giggle. Brick.
Alright, little man.
