by Jefferson Hansen
We played basketball in the
driveway of the
group home in a southern suburb of Minneapolis
—three developmentally disabled men
and I.
They were all in their 40’s. They
laughed
and giggled when one of them made a
basket.
They sometimes pretended to buzz
off each
others’ hair where their bald spots
were.
I was a little annoyed to be at
work,
but that doesn’t mean I didn’t love
them.
A man slouched in a lawn chair on a
driveway
across the street. He had a large
gut, like me,
and he was drinking a beer—I could
tell because
you sip at a beer with a more
pecking motion than
you do with a pop, for instance. I, too, like beer.
sky
opens sad english
on bas
this
day ket
the
trick ball
l
the
try i
the
whelm of over k
in
the trivial e
trick normandy
His garage door was open behind
him, revealing some
thing clearly immaculate. Everything
hanging in place,
nothing jammed between one of his
trucks and
the wall, both trucks gleaming,
rakes and tools
hooked on the walls, floor cleanly
swept. Outside, a
glistening Harley. Gothic heavy metal
poured and spread
from unseen speakers. It was big
and snarly, like a
Harley. His entire yard was cleanly
mowed. You could
still clearly see the straight line
left by
the wheel of the mower. Absolutely
straight.
i say, “this ball
goes
is how u flat a
play ‘h-o-r-s-e’ gainst
& i hear giggles the call the crack
ripple & the wacky
ride the autumn wir
air clear like i
crisp we
n
r not a g
lone of
this brain or
Just last week, I felt nostalgia
for this kind of set
up when visiting a friend in a
northern suburb.
I may, at some time, enjoy talking
to the man across
the wide street about the latest
Slayer concert he
attended, or the joys of motorcycle
riding, or how best to
landscape (oh, his shrubs were
perfect.) But not now.
(from beneath the soles of my feet
to the blistering azure
of the sky i perceived that moment
that day in the quiet
breeze the rustling of the leaves
in that weird tree that
always dropped sap on my windshield
in the guys saying,
“watch me make this, man, I’m a
cool guy” in voices only
those used to them could understand
against all I believe in
I hated
that man
across the street
as much as I
took joy
in my friends
pretending to buzz each other’s
hair
