Reunion Blues

A poem on the horrors of a reunion

‘Good evening, sir, wind down the window please,

Perhaps you’d like to tell me where you’ve been.’

And so I tell him, starting with Denise

Who’s cock-a-hoop with all she’s done and seen,

And Spears, the prig, a keen, athletic sort

Who, taking me for someone else, I think,

Bombards me with his endless talk of sport

And drives me into starting on the drink

Which doesn’t help. They’re all in pairs you see,

All married, all well-off, all overjoyed

To meet again, all jolly, all but me,

The only one divorced and unemployed.

And so I tell him all he wants to know,

This officer whose face is just a blur,

Before I get the evening’s final blow:

‘Breathe into this, that’s right, keep blowing sir!’