The cicadas get so loud sometimes
shooting hoops in the saturated air
the sweat finally spilling over the ridge of
carefully plucked eye brows
the heavy lowness of the
always to blame for missed shots.
hours of metal rimmed sibling rivalry
decorating each other like soldiers for
every two-pointer because
the arch and swoosh is the
only way the air ever
gets moving around here.
stiff-armed shoves over
back-yard rules and
mounting shouts climbing the tired
vines around the court
drowned by a hum in the valley the
cicadas get so loud sometimes.