My son, Josh, who will be 24 years old on Friday, wrote this poem when he was around 10 years old. When I read this, I realized that he really has a talent.
Once, a long time ago,
Back in the nineteen fifties or so
There was a company, brand new
In a building held by paperclips, gum, and glue.
Inside here was a great find,
A baseball from nineteen O’ nine.
This was a very unique ball,
For inside was the unluckiest thing of all.
A man named Joe owned this new store,
He went bankrupt and cleaned it out, roof to floor.
He left the ball in this place,
But it somehow rolled on without a trace.
Next there was a small boy,
Who found this unlucky toy,
He picked it up, but didn’t go far,
A minute later he was hit by a car,
In his hand, the ball fell from its place,
And it rolled on without a trace.
Next it went in a ditch for a year or two,
By this time it still looked brand new,
A policeman picked the ball up for his son,
But never guessed he’d find a criminal on the run.
He got himself in a nasty gunfight,
His wife hoped he’d make it home alright,
But he had gotten shot,
And on the force, someone had taken his spot.
He picked up the ball and threw it towards space,
So the ball rolled on without a trace.
Next a kind, old man found the thing,
He was a conductor, his train went, “Ding, Ding, Ding.”
But with most unfortunate luck,
His new train had gotten stuck
On a bridge, of all places.
Oh, you should have seen the peoples’ faces.
The train was too heavy by a single pound,
So it fell through the bridge and hit the ground.
The ball didn’t like this hectic place,
So it rolled on without a trace.
Then this ball came to me,
And with my new breathing deficiency,
It’s given me headaches. Back pains, too.
That’s why I’m giving this ball to you.
Maybe you could see what’s inside,
I wouldn’t though, I’ve already tried,
If you want it, if you truly do,
Prepare to meet an unlucky you.
But if you don’t want it in your space,
Then I’ll let it roll on without a trace.
by Josh Glasson