life’s a drag, huh
how do you hide an elephant
there’s not a room,
or a crevice,
not a breath in this world
big enough to do so.

but i’m trying to explain keys and melodies to my son anyway.
he just rolls his eyes.
“can’t hear it,” he says.

“then sit at the piano, man. hum it;
do re mi fa so la ti do.”

told him i have an ear for this—
because once,
it silenced everything else.

i used to run past the elephant every morning—
straight to the blinking cursor,
the mic,
the piano,
the guitar,
the drums.

i dropped out of high school for it.
it was trying to kill me.
and, at the time,
i wanted it to.

-

and after banging on the drums all day,
i’d find my way to the park—
cracked blacktop, bent rims,
six hours of ball a day.
i was fifteen,
like he is now.
that summer i dunked a ball clean through the double rim.
spent july training my fast-twitch fibers,
as if flight
could be earned.
kev-money still has the tape.

tired never felt as good as it did that summer,
and i slept like i was dead.

-

but now it’s now,
and we walk the pristine hardwood
as the health club—
the one my parents could never afford.

“just play,” i say, putting up a shot.

“i need to warm up,”
my son mutters,
rolling his eyes again.

then and there,
i peered through the spotless floor-to-ceiling windows
adjacent the court,

and there they were.

elephants.

hundreds of them,
tail to trunk,
parading the long street,
like a childhood dream.

“just play, man.”