I have driven in fast,
bunching up with them in the keyhole,
tripping, crowding, drawing fouls;
sliding away on my back
and thanking the academy.
Now I will shoot from outside,
arcing my hopes toward the rafters,
for a wayward, breathless moment
while squeaking soles stop,
and eyes wrestle
an inevitable curve.
Gary Witt
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/whoosh/
