He came up for just a cup of coffee,
but in the month the southpaw was with the team,
he threw that high heater and a vicious sinker
(fishing for strikes)
and his knuckler
danced all over. 
                                Hitters laced frozen ropes
and the occasional can of corn,
and when they skyed it you knew
he’d dodged the bullet that inning.
When his stuff was working,
and his mechanics were good
he’d pitch a gem and rarely
got shelled or roughed up.
Even when he uncorked a wild one
he’d work out of a jam. He was
always out in front of the batter,
ahead quickly.
If the count evened
he could pitch out of a hole,
make the payoff pitch and
stick a fork in ‘em.
He never got sent to the showers early
but pitched his lights out and had them
eating out of his hand. 
                                         Too bad  
he hung up his spikes
all too soon
after making the show.