The Shot
Shooting hoops behind the garage
on a cold November night
by the light of a full moon.
Free throw—
Free throw—
Jump shot—
Hook—
The clock is winding down.
6,5,4...
Fake right—go left
3,2,1...
The shot is up...
...and good!
The Fighting Illini win the game!
...and my dog, King, wags his tail in approval.
Rick
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