Idea Debate/CJ Institute Activities: Idea World Basketball Championship

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Idea World Basketball Championship

After last night's play only six teams remain: Humans and Team 9 in the winner's bracket and Balkans and Baltic, Riders on the Storm, BorMeat, and Team 7 in the loser's bracket. Six games lined-up for tonight including the championship. Heavy odds are being laid on the Humans but upsets happen. Tune in and worship.

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Named

Kent

Think of cigarettes
"Your father named you
after his favorite brand."
My uncle chuckles
sipping Wild Turkey.
My father, a chronice smoker, smoked
nine packs during my mother's labor.
The story: he stood staring
at a pack when the nurse brought
news: "Mr. Fielding- a boy."
Think of cigarettes.
Think of my father, the white
lobby, his pacing, stick
after stick in his mouth
smoke curling from his lips
like surfer waves
in a frustrated ocean.
Think of cigarettes.
Think of me.
I became the smoke
that made him cough
the smoke that blackened lungs
the smoke that filled
the long work hours
at a school he hated - inhale, inhale-
to buy bread, to buy shoes
we were poor, we needed
so many things: pencils, pants
doctor visits, dental work
electricity, heat, milk.
I am the smoke filled days
the orange flare as he inhaled.
My growth and deeds are the stubs
in the cemetery of the ashtray.
I got in fights at school
with kids older, gave one ten
stitches, threw rocks at cars
nicking and denting two or three.
I stole candy from stores,
peed on my 2nd grade teacher's
Datsun, hid in the woods.
Still my father came, reliable, stern
again and again, he came
to get me from the office
cigarette stuck in the corner
of his mouth, gray smoke
drifting into his graying hair.
Again and again, he inhaled
asked, "What were you thinking?"
I think of the cigarettes
in his hands - chalk sticks
to mist one's name. Our lives
are the inhale of burning particles
Our lives are the release of gray truths.
When I die let it be with smoke & fire.
Let the consumption be brief.
The ashes forever.
Think of cigarettes.
Think of my father
working into the night
grading papers, shaking his head,
missing sleep, so that I could eat,
so that I could grow and learn.
Think of the smoke in his lungs.
The smoke that was his life.

Idea Debate/CJ Institute Activities

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Idea World Basketball Championship

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