Baseball.
Opening Day.
He
sits shakily on the sofa,
his
body sinking two inches into
the
cushion and back pillow.
He
nods off, thoughts of baseball,
women,
an old dog or two
and
he will not be disturbed.
The
television is in front of him,
remote
control nearby.
His
wife is dead.
All
his wives are now dead.
His
lady friend is the one who
set
him down on the sofa
and
she has gone elsewhere.
He
is neither hungry nor thirsty.
Baseball.
Wonderful painting, sad, sad story.....
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