THE KLUTZ Back

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."