Wednesday, July 28, 2010

One Every 24 #36

Twenty-Fifth Class Reunion at the All-Boys Catholic Boarding School

We're middle aged men, thicker here, thinner there
Weaving through the hallways of our late dorm
Bottles in hand, cigarettes lipped, brazen in doing
All those things we did undercover years before.
And suddenly we're eighteen again, surging with
The miracle of that future cutting us loose against
The tide of what God and our parents expect
Only this is also the past, and we're drunk as hell
And I'm the drunkest of you all, staggering off
Alone in search of some revelation only
To come back empty-handed as usual. Brothers
We live large, often act small, and most of you
Now know far better. Me, I've only grown dimmer,
I suppose. I sit numb as some of you peel away
Toward home, your wives, children, jobs, mortgages
Responsible citizenry. As always, something more
And less than each of you I wander through the halls
When those of us who choose to stay behind finally fall
Asleep. I shake the holy water of alcohol from my fingers
Anoint you with my disquietude. I am the failure
We were all threatened with becoming, the one
Still trying to forget enough of our past to remember.

No comments:

Post a Comment