There were no left-handed baseballs,
left-handed bats.
With his left-handed outfielders' mitt,
he wasn't as good as, Fats.

Old Fats, he leaned into the ball,
with his Baby Ruth candy bar,
over the top of the left-field fence,
beyond the fielder's par.

Now, Lefty, tried his best,
but his eyesight wasn't very good.
He could only get a piece of the ball,
a line drive best he could.

He tried out boxing for a while,
couldn't master a left hook.
But his sidewinder often missed,
leaving him without any book.

Being a space jockey was his career,
leaving creativity pretty much in the rear.
But like Slim Whitman did old Hank,
Lefting that Space Shuttle with no fear.

Bull riding he was at his best,
there was no saddle on it.
Without the left-handed saddle horn,
he rode them like a sonnet.

Thought he'd be a writer,
with no left-hand pencil made.
Waded into writing knee-deep,
doing what the Bard bade.

Made fun of all his life,
just for being on the wrong side.
Took to making left-handed jokes,
comedy becoming his pride.

Lefty Leftwich is right-handed, but is
good-natured enough to approve this little
parody of his work of bringing a little
laughter to his daily poems.

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Copyright 2020 © Ronald W. Hull

5/27/21

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