because today the back yard with these grandsons is all tragicomedy.

The four-year-old makes a grab for the foam bat 
his little brother is using like a golf club. Little 
brother screams bloody murder, and then his face–
all scrunched up and red–smooths out as he realizes
he is still holding the bat, so he turns to his older 
assailant, grins, then swings the bat like a tiny pro 
but misses because older brother is a step ahead,
racing, shrieking across the yard.

I chuckle 
watching the scene devolve into slapstick
and hope tomorrow might feature a bromance.