REUNION

I run into her -- of all places --
in a coffee shop at O’Hare.
I’m scanning the faces of people
standing in line the way
I often do and suddenly there
she is. I wait till she finds
a chair, then come up to her place
and try to look casual. "May
I join you?" I say and watch her face
for signs of recognition.

A moment passes. At last they come . . .
the gasp, the smile I still remember.
"Why it’s been years," she says
and bites her lower lip the way
she always did whenever
something pleased her.

There isn’t time for more
than the briefest of biographies.
There isn’t time nor
is it the place to tell
her that when she waitressed
at McHenry’s Diner and I came in
after school and put on my bus boy
apron, cleaning off her tables,
I became an acolyte of Joy,
a love-crazed Worshiper.