Today, the city sobs
between great gulps
of self-composure.
You emerge soaked,
but full of the urge
to press your luck,
to pound the ball
between brittle ankles,
split the skin
under your nails
as you would
when you were
always in repair.
You use the rain
to slick your hair
after the net rips,
mind and tired flesh
aligned for now
in the way that feels
like a hand on the core
of the world again.

In the staff meeting,
she was weeping
without warning
and there are no shortages
of reasons we should
crack so fully open.
Choose one and it is
probably why now
you flick your wrist
a little wrong
and the rim promptly
announces your inattention.

This, you can correct.
Keep the elbow in
and the feet square.
On the morning bus,
you’ll have spent enough
the veil might slip
and let you leak
into the gutters
what it feels
to breathe and bear
these bones about;
but for tonight,
one shot will
fall after another
as you chase the day
around a screen
until your body
cannot help but drip.