Poem: Letter to Stephen Curry about the 5s

December 1, 2018

Hey man, I heard bout
the letter you sent
to that girl regarding
your Curry 5s.
That’s real cool, man.
I was wondering,
saw that there were no
shoes for those dudes
on courts discontent,
who grew up in cramped
spaces, coveting shoes,
with hula hoops steadied
between storage boxes
in the garage, we grew
a scholar of plastic,
convinced they were innovating
signature moves to
deceive brothers emulating,
but when they finally received
the holy hoop, found themselves awry,
without support. They
would not let you hammer it up
in this house, but we had
a team for every child,
before we suit up, they
sized you up, and in uniforms
you could learn early on to be legit.
With that confidence, the key open sesamed,
be hot in practice, young me,
go for the A squad, channel that speed,
metabolic machine,
and when you hear
the opposing coach yell
“put up your goddamn hands, raise!”
useless against your honed J, sweet fade;
that’s when you made it, praise
the sweet rhythm and blues
who promising a jersey
to a grade school boo
a sweet nothing, not honest in youth,
not secure among fools,
but regret for those dudes
who walkin out of school
not with their dues, of
high school tryouts, lose,
realized too late,
the shot clock run down,
then relegated to the
steadiness of the track and field, and
bare naked hoops with no springs,
bald-faced backboards with grey stains,
thwarting shots with great clangs,
pumping the ball with bent tubes,
struggling against an underinflated ball,
feeling the pronounced bulge of the over pumped,
pushing back dinner,
because each game was a archaic,
the urge to body defender,
charge a man down,
lay it all to the democracy of refs,
but by your side,
a wizard of assists,
feeding you to the basket,
letting you float through the gaze
of that yearned for cutie
(from 8-3 and then overtime).
We believe; I believe.
Just wandering if you can
speak to the Under Armour folks
about shoes for dudes no longer nascent
no longer improving verticals
to basketball superstardom;
genuflect to the
dudes throwing up the rock
all by their lonesome after work
heat checking the
remnants of the swish, the
sacrament of the 3, oh blessed
shoes to be cool,
pushing back the dinner
just like those dudes.
You know, when you get the chance
because we want it too
rock those Curry 5 shoes.
Randy Yee