Since I was little, I have liked school,
I always thought that it was cool.
But one class seems to make me ill,
Its founder I would like to kill.
Reading, writing, that’s all fun,
But please, do not ask me to run.
I can analyze a map,
But I’m not so fond of doing laps.
This class will surely be my death,
For it leaves me out of breath.
It is not that I lack the passion,
And I can tolerate the fashion.
See my dilemma, if you will,
The problem is, I have no skill!
Shooting baskets? Not my thing,
Frisbees I just cannot fling.
Softballs I can’t ever throw,
Soccer? Sorry, that’s a no.
You can ask me to catch a ball,
But chances are that I will fall.
Hockey? Tennis? Ha, I wish!
I think I’d loose against a fish.
This class brings me emotional pain,
So perhaps tomorrow, I’ll fake a sprain…