high school reunion

another
high school reunion
is coming.
you've received
the emails, every day.
joe somebody
is running
the show.
it's at a crab house
on the eastern
shore.
a place with picnic
tables
and newspapers,
butter and hammers.
a place to be fat
and sloppy, which
many of us are at
this ripe age.
the formal dinners
are done.
the ones still alive,
for the most part
are undecided if
they will come.
lots of maybes,
ten said yes, out
of four hundred
and seventy three.
you have no real desire
to see any of these
people, and
they probably feel
the same way about you,
therefore the lack
of contact all these
long years.
you don't like crabs
anyway. the bleeding
fingers, the tugging
for tiny morsels
of meat. they should
be free, crabs.
we don't milk cows
for a glass of milk,
do we?
or squeeze an egg
out of a chicken.
okay, okay. so I digress.
i'm not going
to the reunion,
again.