TheyComeBack

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They Come Back

Late for class again,

this time half an hour,

the pair of them.

She has big hair,

big enough to hold

three colors, including blue.

He sports greasy ball-cap pulled low

to touch reflective sunglasses

so necessary for night classes.

They wear their uncaring

like a suit of clothes slept in,

wrinkled long before

lying down to bed.

"Did we miss anything important?"

she asks for both of them.

Inside me, a familiar speeding

main-line direct-train rage,

burning through the suburbs--

but quick to derail.

Anger seeps away,

so many world-weary commuters

dragging toward the park-and-ride,

inertia the only force

that brings them home.

"You missed a little," I say.

"Hang around at the end of class," I say,

knowing they'll be gone

when break-time ends,

their seats dying-art-house-theater empty.

And they won't see semester's end,

falling from memory

faster than baby food spit to the floor.

I'll mourn them for a moment.

But my secret is that I know

they will arise, living dead,

in two years, five, eight,

the exact instant of resurrection

unpredictable but certain.

They will be transformed,

ball-cap and big-hair gone

with parents' fat tuition check,

replaced by tiny lines

around the eyes,

a pound here, pound there,

gray hair or two,

hint of shadow in their smiles,

bad jobs, unplanned-for kids,

remorse for just that half hour late,

for missing something just

a little important again

and again.

Sheirer, John. Saying My Name: Selected Poems, 1982-2002. Baltimore: Publish America, 2003.