The Sound of Music

my first class reunion, the 30th.
carrie still felt sorry for me and said “hey.”
she was a porn queen. others
even more: start-ups (pastries)
seamless in rise, shysters,
moguls & hedge fund pimps
they were all there
never missing a beat as i lay
dying, staring up,
from the gurney
now greeting me in the banquet hall.
mcnamara, carbuncular,
who bruised both an eye &
a nut for spite, aged 48,
like i’m well & good & chum again
winks of a lady blond by the bar.
the sex was great, he says, lots of it
really juicy hot &
i think
was I at cherry then…?
no, holly hill, that’s right, but…
as he was saying…lots & lots & lots of
it really juicy hot.
gorgeous juicy hot, his brag
until by & by he proves
from his wallet pictures i love,
two daughters sweet as petals,
a son, fifteen, already older
than I, a serious mug,
like mine, taking exception:
a bond?  he’d seem to like philosophy.
a hope, a prompt?  he thinks only of
provision:  my company’s going public!
what does that mean?  i ask.  I do not know.
he spells it back:
an initial offering of $45 per share, a wink,
a nod:
you want to be a multi-millionaire like us?
well & good but maybe you should know
my mother loaned me gas to here, nothing
for a lottery ticket
(i strain the joke, of truth) &
clueless i feel his parting pat of exit
on my arm. he nods, i nod, “good to see you too!”
i nod a lot these days, I think a lot these nights
what if, what if, what if?
what land, what clime, what road?
what reich or law or polis
woulda coulda grown
a freshman date with carrie
us into von trapps?

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