Soldiers or ordinary citizens,
professionals or homebodies, clergy or laity, businessmen or
artists, they left the world diminished by their passing.
And so we came, after 25 long years
of going about
our own private battles, waged or
foisted upon us,
wittingly or unwittingly. Some,
came with halves;
few, with wholes, all pasted up from
under;
many, with broken pieces.
We sang, danced and congregated. And
although
we can never put the parts together
again,
we make one marvelous collage of
cut, broken pieces.
THE REUNION
Forty, pushing
fifteen, fiddling with a purse string
of a genie. A mommy,
shelved. All dolled-up
for this fantasy,
long-awaited and indulged
by gals and guys, in
smoke, songs and
second puberty.
Shame! Don’t let the
children see,
antics of late
juvenile delinquency.
off to bed, let them
sleep, tell the hubby,
assure the wifey; text
them, if you please.
There is peace to
keep.
Narrate those stories
of flings and thing-a-majig;
Illusions, delusional,
all good for a laugh.
Locate the names and
faces in curdled brains
topped with re-bonded
tresses. Check out her bag,
her blings and
creeping wrinkles.
Mask it with a shrug!
Check out his toys and
hobbies, his prurient dreams
and level—of middle
age perspicacity. In innocence,
ask, how many the kids
and addresses. Gauge them,
take them. They are
you, as you are they. Same pages,
same letters…banded
humanity.