Tuesday, June 09, 2009



He collects baseball cards

like they’re shining silver dollars.

He carries them carefully

in his front pockets.

He feels wealthy with his cards –

his Musial, his mint-condition Mays,

his Slaughter, a card

kids would kill to have.

He likes to sit

beneath the successful sweet-gum tree

and talk to his cards:

Say hey, Willie.

Pound one over the pavilion, Stan.

Enos, show me how to hustle home

from first on a single.


These days

he strides down Summit Street

in style.


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