He phoned asking to meet for lunch,
after long silence since I shoved
his frat pin back the year after
we left for college. He’d looked me up.
In high school already he knew what he wanted
and made me do it, those years before
I knew I could refuse. Now I preempted
his predictable persuasive monologue.
I wore a confident shirt and make-up,
took along photos of my husband and children
to show and tell my escape.
He was easy to spy, but the smart team captain’s
eyes now seemed crocodile green,
his smile toothy, Roman nose too thin.
His build was fuller, self-assurance unchanged.
I gave a firm handshake, ordered chicken salad.
After comparing updates on family
and careers—he married, no children—
talk brought his news of others from our class,
one dead already.
I politely gathered up the end,
accepted his card and spotted the note
penned on the corner, “if there’s any interest,”
dropped it into my bag.
Dianne Silvestri, author of the chapbook Necessary Sentiments, has had poems appear in The Main Street Rag, Earth’s Daughters, The Comstock Review, Evening Street Review, The Worcester Review, Pulse, The Healing Muse, and elsewhere. A Pushcart nominee, she is Copy-Editor of the journal Dermatitis and leads the Morse Poetry Group.