GOAT
I drove to the city my father was from,
Past farm fields and blocks of industry.
I was early and in a hurry,
Following the roads we’d taken
When Dad’s extended family met
At the country church he attended as a child.
Rain fell and I listened to a data scientist
On NPR who had done a lengthy study
To prove who had best played
Basketball in the NBA and concluded
That Mugsy Bogues when compensating
For size is the all-time GOAT.
I missed a turn, thinking about this,
Caught up in the speaker’s nerdy enthusiasm.
I took another wrong road
And a big drink of water.
I felt like a poem becoming a prose piece.
Rain continued to fall as I sped
Through the city my father was from,
Barely noticing the half-abandoned downtown.
I called my old friend on the cell.
Why don’t you get your phone to guide you?
He said. I don’t have that kind of phone.
My dad’s been dead nineteen years.
And never had a cell phone.
I thought about watching Mugsy Bogues
The one time I went to the Dean Dome,
When he almost beat Carolina by himself.
Just as I saw the meeting place ahead,
And wondered if maybe there is a world
Where he is the GOAT.
