An Ace Ball

My father wore a black glove to hit a black ball
against a concrete wall. Open handball where the ball
richocheted faster than the speed of light and the men
met on Saturday morning to continue the game
begun the week before when Gus and Phil
won for "the first time" my father said.
I watched them run back and forth
jockeying for position, for the right to be
the winners for a week.

"Old men, " the teen jocks yelled, " want a challenge?"
I remember my father and Gus
taking them up. They played the jocks

back and forth to win points- with slices, fist balls,
fly shots, killers, spikes. They put them away
with balls that hit the cracks and a roller and a slicey
so close to the ground that Gus yelled,

" That shot is called a sonic boom."

"Old men, " said my father, " have tricks and footwork."


Poetic Asides prompt