HORSE - AARON CHENG '28

Jan 21
1 min read

10/5/25

Five years later, we take the old route to the park again.

It’s dark. The moon lags a bit

behind our steps, as do I.

Our conversation is sparse. In those gaps only

fallen leaves sputter, the last breaths

of firecrackers under our feet.

I try once for every few they take.

Can’t ever make a shot still; we laugh.

Some rounds I hang about under the net

mindlessly slapping my palm

against the hoop’s metal pole

clanging like funeral bells

like funeral bells.

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