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poetry by j matthew waters

Minor League Ritual


Exactly one hour before the game
the young player leaves his mother
for the solitude of his bedroom
on a late Saturday morning.

Closing the door behind him
he walks past prior year trophies
of Louisville sluggers atop silver bases
spanning across the dresser.

His lucky number seven uniform
lies across the double bed
nearly spotless except for stains
detergents will never call out.

Transforming himself bit by bit
from stirrups and pants to jersey and cap
his mind centers on catch and throw
on aluminum bat ripping cowhide.



june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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2 thoughts on “Minor League Ritual

  1. Very poignant. My Dad will love this.

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