I'm Late

I'm Late

A friend of mine had two strikes,

her game was on the line.

Another strike was pitched,

it wasn't what she liked,

but a swing she had to take,

so she swung that vodka bottle

with everything she had

and struck a little squibbler

skipping down the line,

and while the fielders charged

to interrupt her strike

she raised a drunken ruckus

storming down that line.

The throw across the diamond
tied her foot down to the bag

and crashing into safety

sent the sacker to the sand.

But now she found herself

alone at that first base bag

needing desperately to find a way

to make the next way station.

So she called upon her friend

over in the on-deck circle

to sacrifice and bunt her

quickly over to second.

So bunt I did,

and safe she is,

but now for you

I'm poor and late.

But don't you look

disapprovingly,

or call a strike on me,

'cause I'll tell you

to your face:

"Go fuck yourself!"

for me.