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Volley and Ball

The aggressive ones argue with the rules.
They spike the balls, making us look like fools.
I am not good at returning, and horrible at the serve.
Come on! Let’s play volleyball you say, if you have the nerve.

Frankly I don’t, all my memories are sad.
I was one of the worst ones. Ask my Mom or Dad.
Do not ask my grandma, for she’ll lie through her teeth.
Pretending I could do anything sporty. She fibs over and beneath.

I do remember wishing we did not ever have to play it again.
The ones who were out for blood were Amazons ready to win.
They despised the short ones, especially my sister and me.
We had wobbly arms. Neither of us could serve, you see.

So many will have memories of glory and fame.
They were probably eight foot tall and had a cute name.
My sister and I used to slink off all ashamed.
She is Volley. I am Ball, neither of us twins aptly named.

Copyright © Caren Krutsinger

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