By Pete Tucker

They slowly shuffle in
Those who’ve managed to remain.
Their faces vaguely familiar
In my mind all but waned.

That should be of little wonder.
Fifty years, come and gone.
I struggle to remember classmates,
But I’m left little drawn.

A list is distributed,
Simply labeled “DECEASED”.
I’m  pleased my name is not the on it,
Lest, by one,  our class be decreased.

One can’t help but wonder,
Next time this event rolls  around.
Will I, like today, attend
Or, be long since aground ?

It’s really not surprising .
Reunions  have trouble drawing crowds.
They remind of our finality.
Why see ourselves in shrouds ?

But, for the time being,
We sit here and pretend
That we remember all the faces.
Will such deceit ever end ?