Sailing

I sailed through an Arizona middle school,
me and my adolescent friends, my dear, dear friends.
How we laughed our way through the lunch hours.
How we laughed our way through finger-painting class
and our jump-over-the-cones-on-the-grass class
and the class where we built building block towers
until one day they gave us our diplomas
and everybody left each other.

Then in high school my sister promised
she’d take me to the improvisation show
-I was really into art at the time-
and I waited and waited and waited
but the whole idea just fizzled.
Car troubles, inappropriateness,
she had a boyfriend, I don't know.
I sat on the back porch that windy night
while the wind sailed on, north to Tucson, downtown,
and left me sitting in a suburb.
At least I had a glass of Kool-Aid.

Now in my maturity I feel like Moroni,
the last of the Book of Mormon prophets,
lugging memories etched in gold
across a lonely continent.
All my friends are dead
and I don’t even like friends.