A Poem by Bill Jansen

The Reunion

O infinite virtue, com'st thou smiling from the world's great snare 
uncaught?

                                                -- Anthony & Cleopatra

Here and there an interesting fact.
Facts like Viagra-sniffing dogs
jumping up on people at my 50th High School Reunion.
The rose-gray eyes of a part Apache girl
you could have asked to girl friend
but the density of your 17 year old mind
would stop the armor piercing shell of a Panzer tank.

But I am probably already sinning against the facts.
A mask of Phaedra was not passed around.
No one I heard was discussing concussion syndrome.
The reunion was comfortable.
The venue fluid, relaxed on wide masonic lawns.
Only a total squirt would have transferred
this gathering of gentle, forgiving souls
to a drive-in movie playing without sound,
their giant selves making love on the screen.
There was nothing remarkable about my name tag.
There was no aversion to the painful eternal words:
vere et tu ex illis es.

Maybe that's my problem.
There is no problem:  just facts.

And while I'm in the mood
I might as well confess there were no surreal madrigal gum
stuck like the periods at the end of our lives
to the underside of picnic tables
about which my aged classmates sit forever
making factual conversation.



Bill Jansen lives in Forest Grove, Oregon.