THE DRAIN is a memory,
I am ready to pitch the baseball,
I aim right for the glove,
I come set.
My mom says, “right down the middle Bran,”
I lift my leg and throw the ball,
I release too early,
the ball goes flying way over my mom’s head,
the ball hops and jumps down the street,
It “bangs” off the curb and keeps rolling,
We yell, “no!”
The ball rolls into THE DRAIN,
my mom looks at me and sighs, “go get another one,”
and we do it all over again.