No,
of course you
don’t remember
me.

No doubt,
you remember
the cut-ups
who sat in the back—

passing
notes and
planning to hold
up the liquor store,

and those in front,
tiny adults—
scrubbed and
glistening,

listening
to every word and
imagining the doctors,
and business leaders

they were sure
to become.
I had a seat near
the middle—

away from
the window
side with
the mediocrities,

the ones
destined for nothing
grand.
For fun,

we used old photos
to place the grown ups
in desks,
and google

to trace their histories—
but nothing stood out
except the number
of empty chairs.