[APPLAUSE]
Now I'll read through my second poem about basketball,
and it's a villanelle.
And it's like a villanelle, because I
was trying to think of how to write a poem about it
by Michael Jordan, when he beat Utah in his last game,
and he beat them so quick, he beat them in 41 seconds.
So he beat them in 41 seconds, just turned the whole thing
around and beat them-- he looked like an old man, and all
of a sudden, in 41 seconds, he killed them.
And I think Malone has-- he has never forgotten it,
and it's getting shot.
[LAUGHTER]
So I couldn't think--
so I couldn't think of something that
could be fit in 41 seconds, because a tanka and a haiku
is too short, and a sonnet is too controlling.
And then, because of the fact that Michael Jordan--
it was like a recurring line in people's lives for six years.
So I thought the villanelle was a nice one, because it's got--
it's got that refrain that runs through-- those refrains.
So this is called "Forty-one Seconds on a Sunday in June
in Salt Lake City, Utah," and it's a different kind of poem,
but it's about basketball--
for Michael Jordan.
"Rising up in time, Michael Jordan
hangs like an icon, suspended in space, cocks his right arm,
fires a jump shot for two, the title game on the line.
His eyes, two radar screens screwed like nails
into the mask of his face, bore in on the basket, gaze focused.
A thing of beauty, no shadow, or trace, no hint of fear,
in this, his showplace, his ultimate place to shine.
Rising up in time, Michael Jordan
hangs like an icon, suspended in space,
after he has moved from baseline to baseline, sideline
to sideline.
His coalface shining, wagging his tongue,
he dribbles through chaos, snaking serpentine.
His eyes, two radar screens screwed like nails
into the mask of his face, he bolts a flash up the court,
takes off, floats in for two more in this race for glory.
It is his time, what he was put on earth for,
he can see the headline.
Rising up in time, Michael Jordan
hangs like an icon, suspended in space.
Inside his imagination, he feels the moment he will embrace,
knows his place is written here.
Inside this quickening pace of nerves, he will define.
His eyes, two radar screens screwed like nails
into the mask of his face.
Inside this moment, he will rule on his own terms.
Quick as a cat, he interfaces time.
Victory and glory, as he crosses over his dribble.
He is king of this shrine.
Rising up in time, Michael Jordan
hangs like an icon, suspended in space.
His eyes, two radar screens screwed like nails
into the mass of his face."
[APPLAUSE]