Second team picks up the baseball bat without hesitation. All strung out across whipped wire, it's the floor of royal blue and smeared white hope. No thanks darling, though beautiful colour your lipstick. They flew fists so fast across the field they couldn't even feel their legs anymore, looking across into the unknown stands of toothed faces, tilting and smiling, where were his parents? Under some freeway; maybe if I hit the ball real hard, the wind will be so impressed it'll let it ride on the flow of it's unhindered airwaves. Some white rider, hurtling towards a clockwork of grey and pale cars, freely tumbling towards the windscreen of some ladies family wagon.
Maybe they use to know what it meant to hit that hard, but ultimately, it doesn't matter because none of you play ball anymore.
No comments:
Post a Comment