Hardwood Memories

Familiar sounds, familiar smells

Ghosts of a past time

Roam. Each a story tells.

Of days in their prime.

Adorned in dreams and hardwood floors

As anxious fans flooded through my doors

And nervous players waited in nervous shoes

Knowing tonight they cannot lose.

Tickling twine from way downtown

Bumping, shoving, hustling for a rebound.

Heart and soul drips to the ground

As lifetimes are spent counting seconds down.

These things, these times, I've seen

Come and go. Heroes of the minute have been

Carried away, their faces a sweating, shiny sheen.

But I remain, and the man with the buffing machine.

by John-Michael McGinnis