He says it’s so good to see me.
He jokes and asks if I’ve gotten shorter.
He frets over saying something else clever but
as I remember, that’s as good as it gets.
He says he’s married now
(though he’s not wearing a ring).
He notices me noticing but I don’t ask about it.
He asks if I have time to get a drink.
I squint and look at my watch.
Fuck, I’m a poet. I don’t wear a watch.
I bite my lip. My heart beats fast.
I scratch my head and look confused
(it’s the one emotion I can fake).
‘What was your name again?’