I collect these cards, wrapped in gum,
my heroes wrapped in rubber bands, everyone.
With caps and stripes, gloves and smiles,
I stare and admire for a while.
There all in a shoe box, rubber bands marks the spot,
of certain teams that mean a lot.
I memorize the numbers on the back,
like legends on a map that state the facts.
Like base on balls, hits and runs,
important things and stuff that’s fun.
And when I’m getting a new one, it smells of sweet pink gum,
all dusted with white powder, and I anticipate the fun.
Now you might think it’s easy to file a card,
but to file it right can be very hard.
Now should he be with his team like all the others are,
or should he be filed with the guys that hit the ball so far.
Now I have a system that’s detailed, almost to a fault,
but then – that’s what baseball is all about.
On my front step I unwind those rubber bands that hold,
all my heroes , young and old.
My baseball cards get scattered on each and every step,
as the wind sometimes flips them over, and mixes up each set.
All of this was years ago,
as time and space passed me slow.
And although the pink flat gum and powder white,
no long hold their place in light,
My heroes remain so young and proud,
on a small square card in a shoebox,
my heroes rubber-banded bound.