by Janice Hovey
Tis true, yes I have seen it with my own blue eyes
My husband never tans, you see, no matter how he tries
His head and neck and arms were sacrificed for love
Yes, for the White Sox, a simple bat and ball and glove
His skin doth glow like a red hot coal, his burn is living proof
Dear god, why didn’t you stand under the upper deck roof?
Buy some sunscreen or a hat, or maybe ask to borrow?
No, he suffered silently and will pay the price tomorrow.
Published in Ballparks, Chicago White Sox, Fans, Pure doggerel, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | 1 Comment