Detonation

He soars...
Rising rhythmically from the court

Propelled by flesh and plastic.
Like Phoebus, his torso curves
Expectant dawn to blazing Midday
He soars...

Behind his arching body
A languid arm arcs
Backward
Slowly, like Achilles scarred shard,
Stretching for his spear;
This weapon, though, no mere mesh
Of wood and flint
But a power massing
In every military sinew
From every nerve-end;
From every
Nerveless end
Surging, merging united
At the shoulder
Now unfurling, transferring energy
Swiftly through bicep, onto forearm
And finally into
Fist…

A low thud understates that
Graceful galvanization of force
The ball bewildered,
Dizzy with dilemma,
Slams on wood and flips away

In a frenzy
As he did once,  

Thrown ragdoll-like
Planting rice in a field.
Landing he smiles seeing
The opposition spread-eagled
Slapping at shadows.
His point.

Showering, later,
An afterthought nearly unbalanced his
Careful stance
"They call that manoeuvre
A spike".
He reflected
Soaping his tapered stump