Strike Three

by Samantha Sakolari

The batter stepped up to the plate
We were hoping it wasn’t too late
A home run we needed
So we all cheered and pleaded
Would this victory be left up to fate?

The first pitch the ump called a ball
The next pitch was fouled off the wall
The third pitch went high
Fourth prompted a sigh
As strike two was the umpire’s call!

The next pitch was called ball three
Then the crowd shouted with glee
As the last pitch soared far
And hit a parked car
Giving out team the victory!


Published in Limerick, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | 1 Comment

Strike Three: 1 Comment

  1. Hilary Barta wrote,

    Nothing like a happy ending. Speaking of which…

    Yes, the ball left the park, but alas,
    Hit the windshield and shattered the glass
    And the vehicle’s owner,
    Big six-three broad-boner,
    Charged the dugout to kick him some ass.

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