It's a silver haired Kelly Gruber that winks at me
through the fragile strands of an abandoned clothes-line; amidst
a life crisis.
His hands are rusted and throbbing, and his knees are buckled
and sore to the eyes.
He is limping and mumbling
Together we watched as his auraŚwhich was there and was as plain
as daytime infield grass only some time agoŚwent tumbling towards
the abyss like a fly ball headed for the front two rows of Exhibition
Stadium; no chance for a play.
* * * * *
Day 4 | Kelly
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