poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “sports”

Sunday Sports Bar

It was Sunday and we slept in
and skipped Mass
instead settled for a cozy little
tavern offering a brunch buffet and
make-your-own Bloody Mary bar

Flat screen TVs lined the upper
walls between knick-knacks and
artwork and craft beer signs
airing multiple football contests
and golf and X games

In the far back corner a dozen
patrons encircled a table
the television above them
airing the Papal visit in Philadelphia
every once in a while whooping
it up and pumping their fists
signaling to all the faithful
the Pope had scored again

september two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

reverse psychology

on opening day
vegas future odds
for winning the world series
has the chicago cubs
at eighty to one
the same as the pirates
and the mariners
and right behind
the new york mets

wish I could say
I’ve got the fever
but now into my fifth decade
of blindly following
the lovable ones
I’ve since grown jaded
often pondering
if there is more to life
than mere losing

march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

cheers to the minor league siren

it was a sunday afternoon
and me and my gal sat at the bar
tipping pabst blue ribbons
while across the street
the crowd gathered into the stadium
for a doubleheader matinée

the flat screens hanging on the walls
aired most of the afternoon games
the sound muted by the country music
streaming from the jukebox

look my gal said pointing at one of the games
templeton is pitching for saint louis
i used to let him screw me you know

he played across the street
when he was just a baby she said
and i took him under my wing
and taught him a thing or two

yeah right i said
you’re dreaming again
holding two fingers up across the bar

my ass holds secrets you cannot imagine
she said and then lifted her glass
just above her still seductive eyes
waiting for me to do the same

march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the insurance salesman

he was destined to be a star
there was no doubt about it

he had the name that just rang true
and he had looks to die for
and the girls were so happy
he wasn’t taken even though
everyone knew he liked guys

he was the number one draft pick
right out of college
after winning the big game
with his golden arm
“he’s going places” i remember
the talking heads saying
as if they knew something
nobody else did

he was destined to be a star
there was no doubt it
but now nobody remembers his name
and not even the talking heads
talk about
where all the money went

february two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved


He wakes up tired and alone and starts
the daily routine all over again,
asking himself what’s it all for,
this grind called life; doing the same thing
day in and day out and seemingly
not getting anywhere.

In the kitchen the cat tries to order
bacon and eggs as he pours himself
a cup of orange juice,
dispensing the daily supplements
onto the counter, convinced they’re necessary
to keep his vital organs functioning.

Once on the highway he interacts
with sports talk radio, arguing against
this Sunday’s predictions.
Nearing downtown he darts into the fast lane
and accelerates past the exit ramp,
a smile on his face and Vegas
only three hundred miles away.

october two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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