Where Legends are Made 

By Ben Heacox 

Rectangles of smooth concrete like a bed 

The old orange rusted hoop hanging overhead

Feeling of freedom without a thought in my head

The court accepts themm all 

Doesn’t matter if you’re small or tall 

All day we play ball 

Get back up after you fall 

Hearing the sound of the chain net as your shot goes in 

Anyone can play the game does not matter your kin 

The old oak tree gives us shade 

Behind the basket sways bright red rose bushes 

With sharp thorns like blades

Etched into the side “Where legends are made“

Next to the court children play

Swinging on swing sets 

Eating at the picnic tables

Smell of steak sizzling on the grill

To me the court is a really big deal