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by Christopher Cole Sep 22, 2005 category : Miscellaneous / Misc. poems
Your down the court, you have the ball, you shoot it up, then you pause. The ball is flying, it hits the rim, it bounces back up, chances are slim. Your heart beats, your legs quiver, your body gets cold, you start to shiver. The buzzer rings, last shot of the game, it's up to you, you won the fame.