May Old Acquaintance Stay Forgotten by Steven Storrie

Where you been
He asks gleefully
Glad-handing me
Like he needs my vote
stood in the centre of
this crumbling town
where we played as boys
bunked off school
hiding from the people
who knew us and eyeing
up the bare legs of women
rather than just some girls

What have you been up to
he asks hurriedly, a smile
hanging from his goofy face
What, I think, in the near 20 years
since we last spoke?
You know
This and that
Righteous, man, righteous
He says
Total scenes.

I don’t tell him about
the wreck I survived
or the marriage that failed
or that I’m meant to be some
big shot writer now
There isn’t time
He scoops up my hand again
And grips it like it’s worth a mint

Gotta dash, he says
Have a meeting just after 3
Good seeing you, he beams
Let’s do it again sometime

Sure, I think
As he dashes off
How about in another 20 years?

I don’t tell him I once slept with his wife

I figure he’ll find that out for himself
Soon enough.

Steven Storrie 3
Steven Storrie has worked as a cable T.V repair man, dishwasher, choreographer, ice cream vendor and junk yard attendant. Tired of this he is currently locked in his basement working on his first full collection of poetry, bickering with his neighbours over nothing and storing the baseballs he keeps when they are hit into his yard. His first collection of short stories, We Are Not The Kids We Used To Be, will be released in November by DevilHouse Press. You can find him at the website he runs, ‘Black Coffee For Breakfast’, at

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