A new (short) series about words we use for head.
Hoopster
Wilbur
The
game was close; the clocked ticked down.
Then
Wilbur stole the ball!
He
dribbled to the basket with
No
obstacles at all.
He
laid it in so perfectly—
It nested
in the net.
The
clock expired; the crowd went wild—
No
better does it get!
It
was the only basket that
Young
Wilbur ever made.
Oh,
such a splendid memory …
But
then he grew dismayed.
The
other team was cheering—see,
It
was for them he’d scored.
Oh,
Wilbur used the ball, all right—
But
failed to use his gourd.