September 2004 / Volume Five / Issue Four
Michael Estabrook
99 Points

I know I was asleep,
know I had dozed off for a few minutes anyway,
trying to get a step or two ahead
of the dreaded jetlag,
that I know will come crashing down on me
like a giant wave in a couple hours
right in the middle of the day.
I know I fell asleep
even though I couldn’t hear myself snoring
(“like a rumbling avalanche,” my wife
told me once). Because I had this dream
that I had 99 points, needed only one more basket
to make the last plat of the game to win
the game, break 100 points,
setting a new record, be the star, the hero
of the game. But of course the ball
spun around the rim and popped out
like a cuckoo and there was no time for another
shot and no new record and the game
was lost again on account of me so maybe
it wasn’t a dream after all.