The Crossover

Conversation

In the car

I ask Dad

if going to the doctor

will kill him.

He tells me

he doesn’t trust doctors,

that my grandfather did

and look where it got him:

six feet under

at forty-five.

But Mom says your dad

was really sick, I tell him,

and Dad just rolls his eyes,

so I try something different.

I tell him

that just because your teammate

gets fouled on a lay-up

doesn’t mean you shouldn’t

ever drive to the lane again.

He looks at me and

laughs so loud,

we almost don’t hear

the flashing blues

behind us.