Reunion

 Reunion

John Clare Stokes

At first he said he wasn't going

By now he should be retiring

Having made it finally...

And not working at sixty,

Driving for a living.

What kind of cloak could 

he pick?

One that would hide where

All the years continued to

stick,

Lingering years from lithe 

times of being lean,

Fitting in places he only

dreamed!  how now?

And the old flames,

would they even recognize

what it was in him that 

once drew them?

Causing them to give their

Promises to him,

meeting at some out for the

evening parents home,

doing things never since done.

Would they still wear the 

braces and beads?

Wave the pom pons and 

twirl the batons

tauntingly?

Hide yet their unrequited 

Love for him?

Never flaming out after all the years?

Probably not.

Caught up in the grand babies

praising, 

their own husbands providing

now this love to them.

Splendid lives.

How dare this old hurdling

hoopster crash the reunion!

All was going so well,

Not dwelling upon the past.