Broken Promises

A single window, like a child’s nail, broken with the swing of a bat. An accident, you mutter, to the old woman whose nose almost reaches her chin. She never liked children, never wanted any of her own. She can’t relate to their music, their clothes or their attitude. She blames all children for taking away her husband. He wanted children, loved them, and didn’t love her enough not to have any. He and his new wife have six, as the old woman sits alone, cursing broken promises and broken windows.