Double Vision (poem)

Near blind in summer's sun, we spar
     to some ancient, oedipal rhythm,
Father and son:  we joust on the hot tar,
     and rain spheres through a mystical rim.

No child of mine this immensity:
     outsized body, outrageous
And fantastic--out of breath, I see
     double, see the child that was.

Comically diminutive, perfectly small, 
     his pliable bones thin as kindling--
One quick snap, then, for the god mortal
     to test the seed once engendered.

"Give me the ball, Dad, I'm open"
     and unthinking I turn from the hoop
And wing the ball to my three-point hope--
     he grows to his height, arches, and shoots.

Those first words spoken, his being
     fleshed in a green, green idyll,
Could he see himself then come finally
     some impotent, fallen idol?