A Matt Shaw Sonnet

Look, this is just a bit of silliness for a Monday morning. But I figure we might as well have some fun, while we're all here. I woke up with a rather humdrum line of poetry in my head and decided to humdrum it all the way out into a full poem. Here it is:

Matt Shaw had far too long a stride at bat.
He hunched and lunged whene'er he swung—fell flat.
A trip to D’Moines will do him good, I think.
Without him, though, Chicago’s armor’s chinked.
A lineup hole, a question mark, and that
Is not just ‘cause they’ve mounted lousy stats.
Were this the org they truly ought to be,
Their youth would be a surer strength—a key.

This problem any oracle could’ve told.
On fact’ry lines, you oughtn’t break the mold.
Farm systems are, perhaps, outdated terms.
When th'industry’s high-tech fires so fiercely burn.
A fairer sport—a poet’s—Shaw’s would be,
But you can’t mass-produce the bumble bee.