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Kwerky Poetry Corner: The Preposterous Game

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Wildly Exaggerated: Kwerky Poetry Corner: The Preposterous Game

Friday, May 13, 2011

Kwerky Poetry Corner: The Preposterous Game

While downing a beer at my local pub this week, I watched a bunch of softball players pour in after their game. Being a little drunk, still a little hungover from the night before, and quite tired, I became completely fixated on the players' jerseys. Presumably they were emblazoned with the team's name, and if that's the case, then there is a softball team in Atlanta called, simply: PREPOSTEROUS.

Being a mildly obsessive person anyway, I have not been able to stop thinking about that team name. And in an effort to get it out of my head and move on with my life, I have penned a poorly-structured poem about my new favorite softball team. Lucky you.

The Preposterous Game

As the sun beats down on a Dunwoody diamond
Two groups take to the dirt:
One comprised of the usual mortals,
One with "PREPOSTEROUS" on its shirt

The first pitch boards a train to Barbados
As the catcher begins to recite
The Rime of the Basement Pensioner
And the coach serves up Turkish delight

The batter is up to his eyeballs
In the wombats the cheerleaders brought
And his teammates look on in confusion
As their mascot is tied in a knot

But he nonetheless raises his bat,
Determined to give it a swing
Though the pitcher is already weeping
And the bases are flapping their wings

Then he makes a run for first,
But the opposing team takes note
One wants to tag him out
And they decide to have a vote

He wrestles first base to the ground
His teammates begin to cheer
But as he lifts his eyes
A glowing figure draws near

There stands the Queen of Sweden,
Offering our hero her hand
And helping him to his feet to survey
The pudding where once there was sand

By now the vote is taken
The verdict's been appealed
A footman has been sent
With an envelope, wax-sealed

He rushes to rip it open
Through confetti falling about,
And reads the gold-embossed message:
"We regret to inform you - YOU'RE OUT!"

His fanbase hoots and howls!
They wave their cookie dough mugs!
The ump calls ridiculous fouls
And rewards each one with a hug

As the winners return to their lockers
With rose bouquets aflame
They congratulate one another
On a truly preposterous game

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