Note to High School Reunion Committee
I won’t be attending the fiftieth high school reunion,
or queuing up to tour the old place,
though I thank the committee for its invitation.
It’s not fear of showing my wrinkled face
that will keep me from the happy event—
we all look like a sheet the morning after.
It’s just that my years in high school were spent
in pursuits ill-suited to stories and laughter.
I could mention the drugs and the sex, I guess,
or tell tales of madness and family drama,
before getting round to the French teacher’s kiss.
Madame, who taught the intro to love and trauma.
Who knows where the years have gone?
Let’s just say it’s time I moved on.