The Kid On Third |
| by Jefferey Knodel |
You’ve heard the story a thousand times,
Of all those stories, comes one that rhymes.
The game was of the inning - nine,
The boy on third was feeling fine.
A swing and a miss now made 2 outs,
The home team’s fans were having doubts.
For the player who was next to bat,
Was O for ten and really fat.
The boy on third was told to steal,
The thought of which ‘most made him keel.
He was raised to never be a thief,
And this thought added to his grief.
For if he did not what the coach did say,
He would be benched with no more play.
The time had come to make his choice,
He thought his pants were getting moist.
He said I’m going, that is all,
But to make it there I’ll have to haul!
He took his lead and that was it,
He took off yelling HOLY SHI….!!
The pitcher noticed he was gone,
But dropped the ball upon the lawn.
He picked it up and flung it fast,
Hoping he could catch his ass.
But as the ball approached the plate,
It seemed his efforts were too late.
The ball, the boy, a cloud, a shout,
The ump cried out Yerrrrrrr OUT!
But as the cloud around them cleared,
On the ground the ball appeared!
The kid yelled out Wait there’s the ball!
Which made the umpire change his call.
The boy jumped up and danced around,
His teammates knocked him to the ground.
Then picked him up above them all,
The moment would not let him fall.
He felt so good and yet so not,
For in hell he thought he’d rot.
For, taught him, his mother had,
That stealing was very bad.
But at this moment he did not care,
The cross was one he‘d willingly bare.
There were two teams and both were good,
The home team had the better wood.
The score of both had been the same,
The kid yelled out Yo, what’s my name?!?
~
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(c) 1999 Jefferey Knodel Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.
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