Home Runs

Her look never varies always straight on with world-weary seriousness. Here comes the wind up, and the pitch, like a blazing fastball she pees in his cup - The old man sitting in his ancient easy chair takes a sip of his coffee and shouts, It tastes like piss! Still watching the base-runner breeze around third at full speed, as brave and beautiful as the long gone grandeur of the sport, they've both forgotten the last hit was a foul ball, but nothing else matters when for the first time in years home plate is in sight. As the runner crosses home, cheers, high-fives and accolades all around, the old-man awakens (still in his easy chair) , looking up through Sad eyes he sees her smiling, standing there holding out a cup of steaming coffee; he shakes off the pitch and calls the game, due to rain -