When I get home,
it’s almost time for services.
My father is on the couch in his Candy Maldonado jersey
with a shining bowl of peanuts and boxes of Cracker Jacks,
baseball cards
everywhere, his Louisville Slugger in his hand.
He throws me my mitt. It hits me in the chest.
Ow.
No time for ow!
Both games are on! Put on your mitt.
But Dad? I say. We promised Grandpa …