Baseball Poem

Three Strikes, Yer Out

..... written by Greg Salts, Chula Vista, Calif.

The first pitch was heat that looked more like meat.
You swung awful fast but it fouled off my mask.
You looked far too long at the base coach's face.
Your task here is simple, just get to first base. 

You step in the box and shuffle your feet.
"O-2 on the batter," I said,
and was glad I glanced at him then and he really looked mad. 

The catcher laid down number three as a sign
A change-up it was and it looked mighty fine. 

I can't figure out why you stood there and looked.
But now there's a backward K in the book.