It started with a cold spot on the floor,
There in the corner, where no time was spent.
But then not just the sweeper noticed; more
Space fell under its influence. Soon Trent
(Star forward for the team) sensed something odd:
His three-pointers from there not only tanked,
But shame for when they did, that sense that God
Himself was angry gripped him. Well, Trent banked
One anyway next game, but then a voice
Was heard from there, its moans inducing fear
That paralyzed. Soon Coach Bly had no choice
But to rewrite their plays for that whole year.
At last, a Catholic school came there to play
And their coach told Bly what he'd have to say.
Fourteen rhyming lines of pure pulp every day in sonnet form. A different genre every day of the week! All sonnets by Kate Sherrod. Look for the first volume, coming to print in 2016!
Showing posts with label basketball. Show all posts
Showing posts with label basketball. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Terror Tuesday: The Courtside Chiller, Part I
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