Reunion

play the game and forget discomfort,
the drinks lined up like ashtrays
awaiting butts, fly-away fingers
dismembering artichokes and creeping
senility right there to be touched.

gray hair, yes, too much to be
remembered, and after thoughts groveled
before matriarchal commands, a formal
bow to notables, a clinging hand grasping
at forgotten names, a wisp of lipstick
on someone’s collar.

no one entered after nine, only the rustic
violins chafed the skin, rousing a few
old boys to sing the fight song, inebriation
settling in like a tsunami forested in Iraq,
that is, an impossibility, an absurdity,
and the car ride home thumped disease
and the smell of defeat.