in line

two of my friends lost their moms this month
one, and then the other,
mine went a few years ago,
all the dads have been gone a while

my wife called the parents a buffer,
without them
we’ve all stepped up,
and we’re at the head of the line

on the phone Les mentioned school
how our town was, who we were
we knew it all so well,
and how way back then
is only a mind’s blink away
in first grade I was sent to stand in the hall
for pulling her pigtails in class

way, way back then, in that other time
we weren’t aware how young we were
during the summers of fun, the apples of fall,
crisp winters, happy buoyant beginnings of spring
the teachers, classmates, dances
the whole thing whizzing by
in the tempo of a Souza march
every bit of life rang rain water sparkling clear
with ups and downs, and most often, fine times

as pages turn somehow
and here we stand
look at us, we are
those same kids we remember,
older now,
next in line