Did Sweet Lorraine still wear thong underwear?
Had Sam come out? We nibbled canapés
and dished about thick waistlines, thinning hair,
and all those good and not so good old days.
Old flames had burned out, and old rivals kissed;
the guy most likely to succeed had done
so well that he had disappeared, and missed
this effort to revive expired fun:
the now-pale pleasure of now-legal drinking,
the silly strain of being scrutinized,
the hollow murmur of horizons shrinking,
name-tagged nostalgia, neatly organized.
Small talk had rarely been so small, but—damn!—
nobody knew about Lorraine or Sam.