morning hoops

it's a sweat filled
day.
a drenching.
there is no escape from
the sun
on the squared court.
but we go,
we run.
it's a weekend thing.
thirty years and more,
still at it.
all friends.
some gone, some done.
a handful, the core
still
coming, weekend after
weekend.
the real life is left
at home. rarely is
it brought to the game.
death, divorce, illness
are vague nods or short
words mumbled before we tie
our laces
and bounce the first ball.
we just show, joke,
make fun, rib, and play.
it's an island.
an escape. a wonder
and a joy, this court
where we get away.