The Grown-Up

He swings

and he swings

and he swings

chubby legs propelling a small body

into the sky

his face illuminated

rosy cheeks and tangled gold hair

and bare feet

with tiny toes

parading through the grasses.

He swings

and he swings

and he swings

and it's over

he steps away from the plate

flings the bat to the ground

a spray of profanities

erupt

clouding him with more than disappointment

or melancholy

more like hate.

He swings

and he swings

and he swings

a stray punch finds the wall

which doesn't bruise so easily

and he stalks from that room

that smells of her powders

that is decorated with erotic pictures cut from magazine covers
that is cold

and he swings

and he swings

and he swings.

Explained here