May 13, 2025Stacking the Deck
Without hesitating, I slip my fingers
into the waxy pleats and tear the wrapper
from the cards and stick of gum, while
my father films it on his camcorder.
It is my 9th birthday, and among a tableful
of presents I’ll soon forget, my father has
gifted me a pack of 1986 TOPPS MAJOR LEAGUE
BASEBALL CARDS to add to my collection.
Right off the bat, the first name I see is
Mike Schmidt, third baseman for the Phillies,
our hometown team. An auspicious beginning,
my father says. And after him, Pete Rose,
Mr. “Charlie Hustle” himself, followed by
Roger “The Rocket” Clemens, pitcher
for the Boston Red Sox. And on it goes
like that: Don Mattingly, Bo Jackson, Jose
Canseco—nothing but franchise players.
Wade Boggs, Rickey Henderson, Darryl
Strawberry, as if this pack were a snapshot
of All-Star weekend. And the whole time
I’m sifting through the big-name roster,
my father, his eye pressed to the viewfinder,
keeps saying Wow! or Look at that! or Holy Cow!
like Phil Rizzuto calling a Yankees game.
It isn’t until the next day he admits to
buying a whole box, selecting only the best
cards, and sealing them into a single pack
using a glue stick. And it wouldn’t be
for another 38 years—when the hospice
nurse tells me he is too weak to speak,
but can still hear—that I finally thank him,
pausing briefly to steady my voice before
asking, Remember the time I turned 9?
Prompt: Write a poem that includes a prank and ends with a question.
