As a child I had
a Topps ‘57 Killebrew
but when my Senators
moved to Minneapolis
I clipped it to the spokes
of my ancient Schwinn
and rattled throughout
the neighborhood.
I wanted to be a doctor
then, to find a cure
for a disease I couldn’t
even pronounce,
to stand on the stage
and accept my prize
from the King, wearing
a bow tie, jacket and shorts,
to sit in a cramped capsule
and reach out and touch
the sisters, fixed
in the night sky.
I sit in the hotel
and think about
the contract I must edit,
about the brief I must read
about the washer waiting
for new belts and rollers,
about my Senators
waiting for another season
in the Ballpark in Arlington.

***

Louis Faber is a poet and writer. His work has appeared in several anthologies and in The MacGuffin, Cantos, Alchemy Spoon, New Feathers Anthology, Flora Fiction, Dreich (Scotland), Prosetrics, Atlanta Review, Glimpse, Rattle, Cold Mountain Review, Pearl, Midstream, European Judaism, The South Carolina Review and Worcester Review, among many others, and has been twice nominated for a Best of the Web and twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize.