We talk of memory and coquetry,
subjective perceptions and single-sex
Catholic secondary schools and how
far they ventured with the converse gender,
nameless public-school guys no one else knew.
We discuss children in the Midwest past
and present and possibly future. How
many could have fit into fierce costumes
they didn’t know would suit them? How many
can yet squeeze into the homecoming dress,
the graduation pants, parts once performed?
The players, the drama-club crew, makeup artists
and days attending without makeup or
hair mousse or deodorant or support
all pad the previous season’s program.
Fathers, sisters, now past smacking distance.
Boys we struck and girls we tapped are spirits,
ghosts wholly consecrated by comic
relics, habits, Whoppers fed in shared booths.
ya /
Now we attend the same ceremonies.
Masses of circuits and signals daily
held in scattered locations while next year’s
nascent vixens and Lothario seeds
clamor at ankles for attention and
sandwiches, unaware of their own lead
roles in far newer Nativity plays.