A Last Afternoon
The boat bobbed and ebbed, slow and methodical. Joe looked over at the older man across from him.
“Aren’t there things you should be doing?
The old man looked up at the marshmallow clouds in a quiet sky.
The tattered Yankees hat sat shading his eyes.
His hand dipped into the water, small circles spread from the spot.
“Probably. But none so important.“
Joe watched him. “You’ll still see the clouds you know.”
“Yeah. But I’ll bet they’re a heck of a lot nicer being under than over.” The old man smiled at him. Joe knew that was true.
The mood suddenly broke with the rod’s loud spinning. The thin wire tightened and slacked until finally the desperate creature was pulled into the boat. The old man ran his hand over the slick scales. Gently cradling it, he lowered it back home..
“Well Dad, maybe you can be the President who brings the White House back home to Earth.“