Shabbir Hakim

For Love or Money

You come prancing calmly to the plate.
Some call you Jesus, some a primate,
Red Sox homeboy, number one-eight.
You cannot throw for sixpence.
Your throwing is an expense.
That’s how bad you suck at defense.
But everyone applauds your courageous effort in the field.
We’ll never forget the times you went diving without a shield,
face first into the ground for a sinking line drive
or into the wall, but at the plate is where you thrive.
For love or money our deeds pursue?
The question is what would Johnny do?
You signed a $52 million deal with the dark side.
We can agree: children need not use you as a guide.
Thanks for the memories, but I’m required to hate you now.


Copyright 2002-2006 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2006 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.