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.
Timothy Gager is the author of nine books of fiction and poetry. He lives on www.timothygager.com.