I was the kid

chosen last on the team.

Peering over glasses,

pale and malnourished,


I always struck out.

A unison moan echoed

from my classmates

whenever I took bat.


Mr. Martin tried to teach

me to play baseball:

"When the ball comes,

strike like you're chopping


off the head of a chicken."

I wildly waved the bat.

"Strike one!  Strike two!  Strike Three!  You're out!"


Tears filled my eyes

as my team taunted,

"Kay, the Klutz!

You made us lose the game."