“Keep still, he’s got two shots”
All eyes stedily on me
Piercing through my jersey
Confidency slowly fading away
My rough-cracked hands shaking
And I think “2 shots to make”
Face starts to turn purple as
Coach says “make these two!”
Mind starts to wonder,
Chubby cheerleader starts to cheer cheerfully,
Concession dogs’ aroma fills the air
I am thankful my conjestion is clear,
My mink makes its way back to the game,
Eyes then focus on the orange cylinder,
Fans screaming and waving under the scoreboard,
But no sound is to be heard
Dead silent, like a corpse’s breath,
Extension of my arm and I can hear a swoosh, then another swoosh,
I smile as my
Anxiety starts to
Slowly fade
away