unlabeled

hallways

oh no!

him again.

well then.

what does he do,

i wonder —

annually reinvent himself?

i remember him

from a year ago.

by the time may arrived

i could have told you

the exact pattern of rips

on his jean knees and

the design on the bottoms

of his shoes.

he wore the

same thing

day in

and out.

surprisingly, he never

smelled funny.

at least he still

walks the same way.

slowly, confidently,

as if leading with his shoulders,

at ease with and in command of

the world.

his voice was deep —

in fact, i almost jumped

when first i heard it.

but for all that he was

indelibly stamped

on my brain,

i wasn’t really thinking

of him.

my attention was focused

on the seat

behind me,

where sat a beret-capped

brown-haired boy

i’d known since

babyhood.

we read hopkins

and wilde

and i told him how much

heaney’s bog poems

delighted me.

he was a friendly face

in a sea of strangers.

then he went away

and i don’t see him

in the halls

anymore.

just the strangers

i’ve memorized.

Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s