the ball is there for continuity. something like 

      a good excuse to be out here beneath this

      July sun that runs 

                                                       full court 

            on the back of our necks. 

 

And its got better burn then the both of us, 

      so half an hour in we’re already on the bench,

      dreaming out loud of ice tea 

 

            beneath a canopy of trees.

 

      the court transforming into a bird bath.

      the heat making ripples with its toes.

 

And it seems like     

 

            this is the most quiet the worlds ever been,

 

      even with the wind careening against our backs.

 

And I cant get the smirk off my face,

      even after he finishes telling the story about how 

      my mom and him had decided bringing a life into 

      this world       wasn't the worst idea.

 

And I think about how much more it means 

      that they weren’t 

 

            here. that they were struggling in some 

      apartment on Hawaii ave

 

each with their own summers

 

each with enough burn

                                                       to play it through 

 

 

 

 

 

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