Phil Anthropuss was a pinstriper, he said, by trade .
He could do it all, eyes closed, one hand tied, was the boast that he made.
But someone threw him a curve, it was a baseball and he almost died.
For long pulls were his specialty, he cried, but before he was done he'd reach the other side !!!
The bystanders were loaded but so was his dagger, just the right amount of One Shot and swagger.
He took from his kit one more brush and a catcher's mitt.
Then with a swish so cunning and bright he floated the thing with a twist and a flip of delight.
A brush in one hand and the other in lip, his swaggered daggers flashed as ball fell from above, landing quit nicely in the palm of his glove.
The crowd milled round to see how he did, he moved his tip cup out while the ball he kept coyly hid.
As coins fully filled the money flagon he bowed when they moaned to see,
then produced the sphere he had so artfully played on, while beaming with glee.
But alas it was a mess, all goopy and wet, no line could be deciphered, it was a wreck and yet ...
He claimed the money put in his vase , stuck it in his pocket and scrammed from that place .
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