by Hilary Barta
Before nary a pitch had been thrown
One would swear that the outcome was known
To elude Detroit’s ace
Would be shrewd–no disgrace
And when e’er you can’t win, you postpone.
Though of rain, not a drip had yet dropped,
‘Fore the game even started they stopped
Of a squall not a trace,
But was called “Justn” case,
While the Sox the division still topped.
Hilary Barta publishes limericks on movies, monsters and pop culture every day at LimerWrecks.
Published in Chicago White Sox, Detroit Tigers, Limerick | Link to this poem | No Comments