AFTER THEIR 50TH HIGH-SCHOOL CLASS REUNION BY JOHN N. MILLER

 Who is he? I’m dead sure
 he didn’t graduate with us.
 Look. Standing behind him. Lola.
 How brave of her! I didn’t think she’d make it
 after our 45th. Who in the world—
 ninety degrees and wearing black. Look, 
 there’s Irene. Yes, Irene. I wouldn’t recognize her either
 if I hadn’t heard. Knock on wood
 and help me, Ann. Remember that strange boy 
 in fifth grade who would memorize
 obituaries? This one’s far too young, though.
 Why is he crouched there in the front row
 between Tom and his new wife? 
 Oh—did you get to Kathy’s funeral?
 Who is this guy? He’s handsome, all right.
 How would you like to have those eyes
 glowing at you in the dark?
 He shouldn’t smile like that. He wouldn’t
 if he knew how many . . .
 Well, at least we tough old birds still show up
 every fifth year in the class picture.
 Right in the front row. Like he’s staring at us.
 Look how white his teeth are.