Professor Plum
Cleaning, cracking jokes
with another cashier,
I turned to find a former
student standing in line
like Christmas Past.
It was slow, close to closing.
I was halfway into my bit,
How’re you? Find
everything okay, today?—
before I recognized him.
Oh, how are you?
I asked again, laughing,
reaching for his groceries.
Eyebrows frowning,
he smiled, landed
his basket with a shrug.
How’re you? he asked.
Oh, you know, working
to feed my teaching habit.
I opened one paper bag
inside another with a thwap.
He studied me carefully
bagging his groceries,
his professor. Last semester,
he came out to me
in his final essay.
I wish I could answer
his face, wish I had more
than bags to hand him.
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