Coach has been up all night.
His game plan swirls in his head
like a crowd pushing for seats.
He imagines Wilson learning
to go to his left; Thompson
crashing the boards;
Hendricks deciding to pass up
a shot to his Carlisle open
underneath. He grabs his clipboard,
diagrams another way to spring
Kochinski free. Outside,
it has started to snow.
He pours another cup of coffee,
drops in two spoonfuls of sugar,
stirs. It's 4:00 in the morning.
He thinks of his wife, sleeping,
imagines somewhere in her dreams
is a way out of last place,
a secret word
that makes every shot go in.