Nine

Nine

Nine were playing, on the field that day,
It was hot and dusty, but they were there to play.
Throats were parched, there was nothing to say,
The game was a passion, neither team would give way.

No one had scored, there’d been just one hit,
Every chance they got, they’d rest a little bit.
It was getting late, the lights were lit
Was the bottom of the ninth, no one could sit.

Then the drops started, raining cats and dogs,
Quickly the infield became a small bog.
Quick as a flash, a tree became a log.
And out of the cornfields, exuded a dense fog

Nine players waiting, the field now covered,
In a nearby shelter everyone hovered
Around a small fire, the teams clustered.
Soon one stood, and aloud he blustered.

“I remember once I left nine of ten standing tall,
But the next time I tried, I clobbered them all.
And you know, tonight I’ve put out nine on balls.
I’m the greatest, I’ll take your compliments, y’all”

“Oh sit and be quiet Andy, you’re full of it,
So hot out, it’s like the ball was covered in spit.
You’re not the greatest, nor humble one bit,
If you don’t sit down, someone will get hit.”

Andy looked at Steve, a grin split his face,
“I wondered who’d stand up, try to put me in my place
But you better stand back and give me some space,
Because against me, you’ll never get on base.”

Now Steve wasn’t small, but Andy dwarfed him,
When Andy stood up, he made the lights dim.
But Steve was determined, his face became grim,
For what he’d said, had been uttered on a whim


Suddenly Dennis stood between the two men
He was quite short, barely reaching Steve's chin
Said, “Sit down both of you, before I get a yen
To have at the two of you, like an old feathered hen.”

His words released the tension in the air,
And he slowly sat down without a single care.
Everyone knew that getting Dennis mad was rare,
Face up to him?  None of them would dare.

For he’d killed nine with just one swat,
Had pegged them all in the same spot.
Then walked away, leaving them there to rot,
None wanted to mess with ‘Dennis One Shot’

No one knew that those nine were flies,
Nor did they ask questions of how, or why.
They never dared to look him in the eye,
He had their respect, didn’t have to try.

The storm ended that night at nine,
The clouds disappeared and let the moon shine.
The game was never finished, the final score line,
Read, “Nine up, nine down, we’re out of time.

Jim Dorrell
7/15/11