My Papa says he loves us all the same,
but I do not want one quarter of his love,
just because I have three other sisters,
who, if you ask me, are always silly.
They chase boys and dress in such ways
my Momma refuses to let them out of the house.
Papa, I am going to be better than my sisters.
I am going to be better than any boy.
Watch me lift weights, do sprints,
and when spring comes, I will try out
for our school’s championship softball team.
You’ll see, I’ll make you proud of me.
What – you want me to play shortstop?
No problemo – watch me throw a frozen rope to first.
Papa, I’ll play any position you want.
Papa says he loves us all the same.
This is not true; my Papa will love me more.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME