Baseball pomes

Catcher in the rye
Pitcher in the succotash
Action in the pen

Grounder to shortstop:
“Here I come a-bounding, dude.
Catch me if you can.”

Shortstop shakes his head,
Gloves it on the hop and thinks
“Some balls talk too much.”

On T.V. they spit
And gob like toothless old men.
Their poor mothers die.

He flies out to right,
A wingless, cowhide angel
Screaming “Holy moo!”

Skipper to the ump:
“You have got to be kidding.”
Ump says “No I don’t.”

The mighty Casey,
In a bar after the game,
Keeps on striking out.

You can steal a base,
Rob a man of a home run,
Knock their ace silly

It’s never a crime
To fire bullets at a guy,
even punch him out.

Sure, cut a man down
With your cannon arm, but please
Don’t kill the rally

Slugger bashes ball.
Fielder gallops back, back, back.
Good-bye, Dolly Gray.

Amen