Four O'Clock Habit

Four o'clock.

I've started to check,

to wait and to listen

for the sound through the town,

for the bounce of the ball

coming down, coming down.

Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

Someone out there plays

every day, every way,

and I know their routine

better than I know my own.

The court stays hidden.

The player stays hidden.

The game stays unseen.

But the sound carries through

and I've learned to want

what I can only hear.

The bounce carries weight

that no bounce should carry—

it's just a ball,

just a sound,

just a person

doing something ordinary.

But I listen now.

And the listening

has changed me.

Four o'clock comes.

I'm waiting.