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.”