I still recall his khaki cargo pants.
They flapped around his ankles as he danced,
ran, bounced the basketball beside his feet
which smacked the wooden floor with every beat.
He pumped his fists, laughed, sometimes even roared,
each time the ball fell through the hoop and scored.
He scattered candy, curses, smiles and tears.
His bouncing feet still echo in my ears.
The old court has been empty for a while,
but boys in cargo pants still make me smile.