For me they arrived with bubble gum.

To others they were the world.

Heroes retain their value.

Heroes

I flipped them.

Flipped them, admiring colors and uniforms,

the stiffness of the card

Sharp corners

Men lost with talent, passionate men lost young

Sometimes I lost my cards and I cried

eventually replaced them with others

Corners dull with time

And the men stay brilliant, always play the game.

They play.

Players?

Lost and timeless souls.

Givers.

Heroes.

Sometimes I flipped them and lost them.

Often, I didn’t know who or why.

I forgot where.

Where they were lost.

But they were always going somewhere.

Often, they were lost in a plane.

I forgot where and why.

I remember them.

© Richie Smith