He Didn’t Remember My Name

He and his wife used to take us to baseball games,
Good seats on the third base line, already paid for,
All we had to do was go and so we went.
We cheered home runs with them,
Shared popcorn with them,
Joked with them, talked family with them.
Time passed and there were gaps
Until I just now saw them in the drug store,
Something about their passport photos.
Their hair even whiter, their faces more pale,
And he gripped my hand warmly
With a “heyyyy …”
And we stood there, grinning,
My hand, firmly in his,
His eyes, roaming helplessly through
The friendly wilderness of me,
And I couldn’t tell him my name.

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