we were like addicts
looking under couch cushions
for loose change
checking inside washers and dryers
and public telephones for the errant nickel
trading like stock brokers
looking under couch cushions
for loose change
checking inside washers and dryers
and public telephones for the errant nickel
trading like stock brokers
at picnic tables and on the street
under the hot sun of summer
our parents never understood this addiction
my old man said, we used to flip those things
or put them in the spokes of our bikes
my mother used to sit in the car
or bored on a bench in the mall
outside of every baseball card shop
in the surrounding pittsburgh area
don’t you think that’s a waste of money, she’d ask
when paper route paychecks and allowances
went to wax boxes of topps, fleer or donruss
to fifteen-dollar rookie cards
sold to us by fat men with fat moustaches
who smelled of cigar smoke at baseball card shows
don’t you ever want to save
and make something for yourself in this world?
they slaved forty hours a week at worthless jobs
they broke open piggy banks for dinner
but we were going to get rich off of those cards
opening every pack was the potential for wealth
a market raising boon at the next swap
some rated rookie card
some misprint
this year’s hero snagging line drives on the hot corner
we had no clue that they were mass producing them
we had no clue how worthless those baseball cards were
we had no clue how much money went down the drain
money for the hot school lunches we wanted
money for the name brand sneakers our parents couldn’t afford
trying to feed the beast that raged inside of us all
i wish it were that easy now
finding money underneath the couch
to pay off the bills and the student loans
an errant twenty rolled up in the washer
to take care of the liquor or the dinner
i don’t even have any of those cards now
they went to my brother when i was done
and then they ended up with his ex-wife when she threw him out
but honestly i don’t think
i’ve ever been as excited as anything in my life
as i was back then opening baseball cards
going sweaty palmed into the drug store
reaching inside a wax box to pull out a pack from the middle
tearing them open walking home
letting gum and paper liter the street
putting the stars in plastic sheets
in binders
in boxed sets
circling card shows in mad fits
getting the DTs the day before my allowance
racing him and him and you and you
and all of you
down sun-soaked corridors of the mall
to be the first one inside the baseball card shop
where, if nothing else,
for a moment i felt like a king
and my little life
made just a little more sense.
John Grochalski is the author of The Noose Doesn’t Get Any Looser After You Punch Out (Six Gallery Press 2008), Glass City (Low Ghost Press, 2010), In The Year of Everything Dying (Camel Saloon, 2012), Starting with the Last Name Grochalski (Coleridge Street Books, 2014), and the forthcoming The Philosophers’ Ship (WineDrunk Press, 2018) He is also the author of the novels, The Librarian (Six Gallery Press 2013), and Wine Clerk (Six Gallery Press 2016). Grochalski currently lives in Brooklyn, New York, where the garbage can smell like roses if you wish on it hard enough.
under the hot sun of summer
our parents never understood this addiction
my old man said, we used to flip those things
or put them in the spokes of our bikes
my mother used to sit in the car
or bored on a bench in the mall
outside of every baseball card shop
in the surrounding pittsburgh area
don’t you think that’s a waste of money, she’d ask
when paper route paychecks and allowances
went to wax boxes of topps, fleer or donruss
to fifteen-dollar rookie cards
sold to us by fat men with fat moustaches
who smelled of cigar smoke at baseball card shows
don’t you ever want to save
and make something for yourself in this world?
they slaved forty hours a week at worthless jobs
they broke open piggy banks for dinner
but we were going to get rich off of those cards
opening every pack was the potential for wealth
a market raising boon at the next swap
some rated rookie card
some misprint
this year’s hero snagging line drives on the hot corner
we had no clue that they were mass producing them
we had no clue how worthless those baseball cards were
we had no clue how much money went down the drain
money for the hot school lunches we wanted
money for the name brand sneakers our parents couldn’t afford
trying to feed the beast that raged inside of us all
i wish it were that easy now
finding money underneath the couch
to pay off the bills and the student loans
an errant twenty rolled up in the washer
to take care of the liquor or the dinner
i don’t even have any of those cards now
they went to my brother when i was done
and then they ended up with his ex-wife when she threw him out
but honestly i don’t think
i’ve ever been as excited as anything in my life
as i was back then opening baseball cards
going sweaty palmed into the drug store
reaching inside a wax box to pull out a pack from the middle
tearing them open walking home
letting gum and paper liter the street
putting the stars in plastic sheets
in binders
in boxed sets
circling card shows in mad fits
getting the DTs the day before my allowance
racing him and him and you and you
and all of you
down sun-soaked corridors of the mall
to be the first one inside the baseball card shop
where, if nothing else,
for a moment i felt like a king
and my little life
made just a little more sense.
John Grochalski is the author of The Noose Doesn’t Get Any Looser After You Punch Out (Six Gallery Press 2008), Glass City (Low Ghost Press, 2010), In The Year of Everything Dying (Camel Saloon, 2012), Starting with the Last Name Grochalski (Coleridge Street Books, 2014), and the forthcoming The Philosophers’ Ship (WineDrunk Press, 2018) He is also the author of the novels, The Librarian (Six Gallery Press 2013), and Wine Clerk (Six Gallery Press 2016). Grochalski currently lives in Brooklyn, New York, where the garbage can smell like roses if you wish on it hard enough.
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