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poetry by j matthew waters

no-hitter


fifty plus thousand baseball fans
rise to their feet
chanting one more out
their collective roar absorbed
into every player on the field
including the umpires
baseline coaches
and the chubby little bat boy

on the mound the pitcher
winds up like a whirling dervish
his eyes hiding below
the bill of the cap
his left leg rising
unrealistically
his first two fingers
gripping the ball along the seams

once released
this soon to be historic fastball
zips sixty and a half feet
in point four five seconds
smacking the catcher’s circular mitt
untouched and in the zone
causing a chain reaction
of pyrotechnic explosions
and dizzying exuberance


march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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