The Disappearance
There were no kids, the dogs are dead, and we’re
completely out of touch. Old friends lived near,
and now or then I’d get a call and hear
that one had seen her, sitting in the rear
at some designer’s show, or sipping kir
with groups of those young men who just appear
at every function, slim and cavalier,
and that she still looked good – but slightly queer,
and was not aging well – and I would fear
that she had asked for me. But year by year
my thoughts and interests moved from there to here.
The friends are gone – no longer volunteer
small updates on her sightings. Would a tear
or two in private now be real – or insincere?
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