Like dried bones of a desert
he just sat there agelessly
collecting
cheers that trickle down the dugout
frail hand sofly caressing the puffed out tummy
dust drift alone the distant wind
blows gently above him
the warm summer shower often pays him an unexpected visit
chattering excitedly over the game
the scents escaped from the venders chest
echoed back
sun beams down cheers
reminding long gone glorys
so brite and illusive
were they really there?
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