in the front row behind home plate
she’s not watching the game
cold beer in her glove hand
new beau on her left
small device streaming
atop crossed knee
he’s keeping score in his head
far behind on the conversation
hesitating how to record
a balk or the stealing of first base
there is mass exhilaration
when the whole place erupts
by way of a grand salami
suddenly they find themselves
deep in the crosshairs
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
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what a picture you’ve painted here
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