the game

it's a mix
of old
and young men
on the court
under
the haze of
sun, or cold.
the fifty degree
rule in effect
until ice
comes.
the decades
pass.
the shots fall
or clank
against the old
orange rims.
it's hard
to imagine
a Saturday
morning without
it, without
them,
or you being
present.
no calls are made,
no e mails
sent.
everyone
knows the time,
everyone knows
when
there is a game,
and so it goes.