on the field
in the cold sun of early
march, but warm
enough
to play a game of catch.
their hats on.
their gloves,
they look alike.
the father
instructs and praises
the boy with
each swing of the bat,
each ball caught.
he's growing before his eyes.
does it remind you of
your life, your father.
the green of the field,
the blue skies. the long
afternoons together?
no it doesn't,
it was nothing like that.
No comments:
Post a Comment