Your boyfriend Chuck bounces a basketball

out the window from the backseat of the moving car

 

Chuck’s no Pistol Pete Maravich, more like slick

Willie, but I’ve already had that chat with him.

 

Try to stay as clean as she, don’t shoot behind her back;

but he popped a Subutex into his mouth, crunched it

 

like Pez and laughed. Now he dribbles in the back

as she sits soaking wet in the front seat after we sang,

 

and danced in the rain, my fault, you got

drenched when I couldn’t find the car

 

in Kenmore Square, we walked down the wrong street,

ended up in Back Bay, the weather not cooperating

 

not bothering to warn me, it’s a waste to find your way,

since I’ve never danced like Gene Kelly, especially

 

when I kicked at some puddles, shot some spray, came

on with the rain, had a smile on my face, when Chuck

 

got splashed in the face…he will never stop dribbling.

He continues, again and again, turns the ball over.

 

 

AntiSocialCover-2-300x463Timothy Gager is the author of nine books of fiction and poetry. He lives on www.timothygager.com.

Filed under: Poetry

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