Dream Song 98: I met a junior--not so junior--and

 I met a junior—not so junior—and
a-many others, who knew 'him' or 'them'
long ago, slightly,
whom I know.
 It was the usual
cocktail party, only (my schedule being strict)
beforehand.


I worked.
 Well.
 Then they kept the kids away
with their own questions, over briefest coffee.

Then kids drove me to my city.

I think of the junior: once my advanced élève,
sweetnatured, slack a little, never perhaps to make,
in my opinion then, it.


In my opinion, after a decade, now.

He publishes.
 The place was second-rate
and is throwing up new buildings.

He'll be, with luck, there always.
—Mr Bones,
stop that damn dismal.
—Why can't we all the same
be? —Dr Bones, how?

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