The Hit | Teen Ink

The Hit MAG

By Anonymous

   He rubs his sweaty hands slowly in the dirt

Then wipes them off on his shirt.

Next he picks up his favorite bat

And puts a helmet on over his hat.

He slowly walks up to the plate

Ready to meet and face his fate.

The pitcher slowly rubs the ball

He's an intimidating sight, hairy and tall.

The catcher shows him where he wants it

Not high, not low, right in the mitt.

Now everyone's ready for play to commence.

Everybody's cheering, "Put it over the fence!"

The batter answers, "Fine, whatever you say"

And the pitcher retorts, "Not on your best day!"

Then the pitcher winds up and throws

The batter then strikes a crushing blow

The ball rolls quickly up the middle into center field,

The batter looking at the pitcher, with a smile

He can't conceal.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.