This T-ball game is boring;
I’m sitting in left field,
and if the ball comes near me,
my glove will be my shield.
I’m frightened of the baseball
cause Bobby once was hit,
and ever since that T-ball game,
in left field I just sit.
My dad says, “Don’t be frightened”,
but Bobby sure did scream,
so sitting in this field’s the way
that I support my team.
Good grief — some kid has hit it!
At me! I’m going to die!
But now the crowd is cheering
cause I just caught a fly!
The Lonely Meatball 
Yay! Umm…Was this kid’s name Casey?
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No – Casey would have been at bat. However, since the ball was hit, I guess Casey wasn’t at bat.
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Aww… this reminds of the good old days. My son plays baseball but he’s 14 now. Great poem!
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Thank you. This poem was inspired by my son’s T-ball games.
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