Communicator, cooker, drinker, poet. Grew up in a mining town, wore a hard hat.

Saturday, April 15, 2006

clumsy man, you've grown

since that young summer. across the table, taller,
in your collared shirt. and you remembered! the evening
we spent drunk, collapsed and flirtatious on a patch of grass.
what self-assured little soldiers we were in those bright
and blue-skied days ... i miss our uniforms, sunday soccer
(although i never played) and that subsidized salad bar
in the basement cafeteria. as we walked, yesterday, having
not seen eachother for years, i was concerned.
i'd forgotten how you gesture when you speak,
had forgotten your smile and many of the warm faces of those
fateful months. i'd forgotten that first of many days when we spoke,
nervously, about western alienation. do you remember, graeme,
i thought it had something to do with hemispheres! what
a silly girl i was then. what a happy girl. it was wonderful to see you.