Sometimes, turning a key, folding laundry,
coach will feel it, like yesterday.
First inning, his young pitcher struggled.
So, he pulled him, like the Red Sox
do on TV. Red-faced, the boy stormed off
slamming his glove to the ground.
His father, sitting in the stands, felt it too.
Matthew house-sits near a lake in Maine. Sometimes, the loons, who own the lake, will hoot and howl, yodel and tremolo, like no tomorrow.
