Sweet Spot On Cowhide

The spinning orb freezes motionless at its apex, a tantalizing visage straining to disarm the gravitational oppression of the larger orb spinning below. The infinitesimal moment of independence, so icarusly bold, so spartanly brave the world stands in awe. The roar of the crowd a distant chorus. They rise unaware of the unsettling events transpiring in the heavens. A lone figure remains in the stands. The orb transforms from mass to energy, then back, but the earth does not reclaim it. A boy circles underneath. His father is the last to leave. The sky turns dense and dark, a russet stain streaks across the horizon. Waiting for the truant gravitational response, the boy takes cover under an oak tree. A carnival's pink sweet music floats far away. Exploding fireworks cast the field under a garish light. Shooting streams spraying bountiful buckets of piss overflow ceramic dams. The great deluge threatens the earthly soles underfoot. The last few drops spill into the polluted basin of cigarette butts and candy wrappers. A hard-mouthed mention of paternal love leaves a mark.