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I ran into a high school classmate of mine,
Guy I knew from the cross-country team.
I was at this restaurant in the city
And saw a face that looked familiar somehow.
When I finally placed him, I was a little surprised
He’d be having dinner this far downtown —
Collar still buttoned, blazer and tie,
Those strong diagonal stripes that comprise
The unit’s insignia: escutcheon of The Street.
But I couldn’t help thinking, looking over at him,
How he’d pass inspection if we squirmed again
Before those slimy brothers and priests.
We met up at the bar and had a drink,
This being an unusual occasion:
A cordial exchange of our disparate trajectories,
Beginning, of course, with a college recap.
Then I explained how I’d gone into the Army —
Impressed him with all that Airborne Ranger crap,
Made him envy my being stationed in Hawaii.
After that, I thought it wise to relinquish the floor.
Married, two children, house out on the Island,
He ran Morgan’s LBO desk, Merrill’s before.
And speaking of running?, I naively asked.
He hadn’t jogged a lick since his second kid.
I picked up the second round and mused,
As we offered perfunctory “cheers,”
I’m still well under seven minutes a mile,
He’s been pulling in seven figures for years.
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