When not teaching white boy’s how to shuffle, acting Tuff, or fixing the jukebox at Slumberland, Paul Beatty shoots a mean jump shot. Quick, quick, the clock’s ticking.
rain rusted orange
ring of saturn
in urban orbit
over an outdoor gym
nighttime jumpers
pull up to the hoop
dance on the rim
bolted against a
metal backboard sky
riddled with
ninety nine thousand
BB sized holes
compressing fifth floor duplex
kitchen light
into a galaxy
of 50-watt schoolyard stars
supra flex intense constellations
handcheck
rotate on defense
double down
tryin to guard
spinning playground
planetarium delirium
of black gods flyin
on neighborhood rep
shake n bake
pump fake
jab step
past orion
walk on air
and burst a reverse
on the stellar bear
