25th Class Reunion

In my breathy telephone voice
I challenge you to remember me.
I remind you of our teen passion,
you say,
Keep going. . .|
I give you my first initial . . .
you say,
God, your voice is sexy.
I play with you for a few minutes more,
loved hearing you say I was turning you on.
I fess up my name and you say,
I’ll see
YOU
later.

First in the bar, I  watch you scan each face,
slide right by mine. I wave and point at the ID
pinned to a torso of twenty-five years of overindulgence,
watch realization hit you from the top of your bald head,
down past the taut white shirt covering the balcony
of flesh hanging over your belt and imagine
all the starch leaving your shorts. 

No wonder being naked at the class reunion
is such a common dream.