The Dropball Poem by Francie Lynch

My brother, Sean,
Had a pitcher's arm,
His catcher said
It was his only charm.
He could aim
With radar sight,
Used speed and curves
To get three strikes.

One summer day
I stole his bike,
He spied me,
Eyed me in his sights.
His first pitch,
Like a guided missle
Whistled past my head;
Aimed for my jawbone,
But missed the strike zone,
I headed straight for home.

His second pitch,
A screaming fast ball,
Barely missed my pate,
I felt that I was safe.

His friends made fun
With a 'Ball two' call.
Sean took aim
With his dropball;
He wound up
Then released.
He threw high,
And I cried:
'Bring in the Relief.'
His pitch lived up to it's name,
It dropped, I felt the batter's pain,
Sean worked his charm again.
I wasn't talking,
I wasn't walking,
They called me 'Out'
On the neighbour's lawn.