Catcher’s Mitt

And this guy,

he parks his Ford and walks up the driveway,

glances at the ten speed, ignores the Hoover,

and heads straight for the catcher’s mitt

sitting on the sun bleached desk.

It’s a child’s mitt, but he picks it up,

examines it closely,

running his fingers along the skin

testing it out with three fingers and a fist.

He puts it down, starts to walk away

then turns and comes back,

picks it up, holds it.

Takes out his wallet

and starts toward the woman,

but stops, turns, puts the glove back on the desk,

walks back down the driveway,

gets in his Ford

and drives away.