When The Black Mamba Came to Rucker Park

Kobe Bean Bryant, Mister 81 Points, himself,
Mister, give me the damn ball and clear out,
Even if Smush Parker is open in the corner,
Scored a modest 15 points when he descended
From the California Hills to visit Rucker Park;
Hero ball wins as many games in Harlem
As it does in the NBA, which isn’t much.
He had just won his third championship,
And came down to this fabled blacktop
With a history that stretched from Archibald to Alcindor,
As a rite of passage, and so he balled,
Until the rains fell down.
Here was the next coming of Michael Jordan,
In front of street legends and project residents,
Playing his heart out like Thelonious going from Carnegie
To play at the best-hidden dive in the city.
He corkscrewed himself for reverse layups on slippery concrete,
Despite the risk of those million-dollar ankles and knees.
He talked trash, going after the best in the neighborhood
Like he was seeing red and on the hunt for meat.
He hovered in the air, like the after-storm humidity.
On turnaround jumpers, he caused oohs and aahs from the masses,
And he balled like it was his day job and won,
Like he usually does at his parquet office…

Matthew Johnson, author of Too Short to Box with God (Finishing Line Press), has BoTN and Pushcart Prize nominations. Writings appearing/forthcoming in African American Review, London Magazine, Roanoke Review, and elsewhere. Managing editor of Portrait of New England, he also is poetry editor for The Twin Bill. https://www.matthewjohnsonpoetry.com