poetry by j matthew waters

with runners in scoring position

all the seats are empty
but that’s not stopping the runners
on first
& second
from stretching their lead

the pitcher steps off the rubber
and everyone

somebody’s yelling ‘cold beer here’
but more than likely
it’s just piped-in recording
from last september

everyone seems to be more focused
than usual
as if some sort of fever has taken
its toll over the game
and each & every at bat
has more meaning
than any year in recent memory

july two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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