Cardenio

After writing this poem, I realize that it had more symbolic elements than I had origionally intended; so I worked a little more into it, but it is mostly my first artistic vision- enjoy.

Cardenio

A place where I have
Always found solace;
A place where
I am at liberty to
Utilize fully the
Storied athletic gifts of my
Ancestors:
The hardwood.
A Mecca for the recluse-
Either to play with fellow
Man
Or not to play.
A haven for the thinker
Who does not want to
Get too fat;
A place for one and all.

Here is where I find myself
Shooting by my lonesome,
Guarded only by the
Air, sunlight and solidarity.
I can play free of judgment,
As I have little formal training
In the sport of men with
Trampolines for legs;
But hell,
I have little formal training
As a writer.

So I shoot and miss,
And shoot and miss,
Being booed and cheered
By a crowd of nothingness.
Then, out of nowhere,
I sink a perfect shot
In one moment I am
Larry Bird, Michael Jordan
And Ray Allen;
I made the perfect shot.

But nobody cares:
No one saw my moment
Of perfection.
I might as well as
Never have taken the shot
To begin with.
Then I try a second attempt
At glorious perfection- brick;
And a third- air ball;
And a fourth- brick.
I hear someone walking in
So I try a last attempt at
Recapturing my erstwhile
Perfect- brick.
So I take my ball and go home,
Passing by the man oblivious
To my greatness,
And try to write
Something that I can
Share with the world
And will not go unnoticed.