The Spirit echo nameless

The Spirit echo nameless, poem, steven james humphreys

He pounded

the pavement

shooting up

hitting net

ran after the ball

got hit by a car

became the spirit

echo nameless

of the neighborhood

we all remember

it’s December

and very chilly

it is raining

clouds are dark

no sun

in Philly

I’m not complaining

and the seasons don’t stop

and you can hear him

bouncing that basketball

and hooting when he

gets nothing but net

and the ball drops

and things become silent

but, you still can hear

the cars drive by

hitting puddles

and splashing

every now and then

at nearly midnight.

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