Two lanes
concrete rattling
while the sea in the distance
placidly sleeps
inhaling the lullaby of fumes
whose breath resounds through the sky
like the crackling raspy voice
of 70-year-old Annie, twirling her cigar like a baton
between her stumps of fingers
A batting cage, that odd sanctuary in the midst of traffic
boys resolutely clutching their bats
like an unruly mob of vigilantes
in the pursuit of some mysterious vagabond
who broke into their barn
and drove away their cattle
Strike. A ball into their air catapulted
the fumes dispersed
the sleepy sea assaulted
And then beyond the green expanse
it disappears
A woods unknown,
a realm of fears
A lone kid
has the good sense
to climb the dividing fence
On his way up he toils
his pale flesh caught up in thorny coils
Wiring, danger, the signs warn
The skin on his hands is slightly torn
from contact with prickly brambles
And then he comes upon a clearing
the gorgeous park its lakes revealing
It is a paradise from sinners sealed
the murky sky, the cars concealed
They are certainly honking, piled up back to back
stretching out for miles and miles
But he hears them not
and only feels
the baseball, that monstrous egg
stirring from its sleep
and tickling his scarred fingers