By Hector Iglesias.
On baseball cards
the images of players posed,
ready to play on sunlit emerald fields;
their stats on back described their feats—
the crowds you almost heard
with each home run or well-placed pitch
of titans captured in their prime,
determined to earn victory;
America in miniature.
My adolescent child would hold them up
so I could see the cards once wrapped in wax;
translucent as the memories of heroes such as
Mattingly, Ripken, Ryan and Schmidt
who rose on sun blest days
and seldom fell from grace.
While chewing aromatic bubble gum
included in each pack, he chatted on about
the knights of fairest game—
“Hey, Dad, a Griffey Jr. rookie card!”
will always reappear when I revisit boxes
HECTOR IGLESIAS is a retired government employee who has been writing poetry for over forty years. He has posted his poems and short stories online. Contact firstname.lastname@example.org