Count Me Out

If I could find one of my high school yearbooks,
I'd use it to sharpen my memories of those winsome
Sixties babes who passed by without words
For me. I dreamed that, one day, they'd step
From their clothes on a beach, in a forest.
They'd desperately want me. In fact, they'd
All found better boyfriends, and probably
Never had learned my name. Fifty years on,
I forget how they looked. A woman whose
Name didn't ring any bells sent a reunion
Invitation. Thirty-five bucks; “be with all
Your old friends.” Well, they aren't my old
Friends, and I don't want to see them:
Chicken-skinned relics with medical woes,
Conservative politics, husbands and wives
Like themselves, playing golf, watching TV,
And dying. Why would I want to pay money
For that? I'd prefer to stay far from those
Blurry old memories, far from a present
Which cheapens a past, which was cheap
To begin with. I'm not going to look. With
Some luck, my old yearbooks are gone.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 33 times
Written on 2021-07-06 at 01:05

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