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.
