People reappear,

showing up masked,

as someone else:  tall lanky Mr. Jackson

who spent half his time in English class adjusting

his junk.  Standing at the front of the room with his Scooby-Doo haircut

and disheveled tie. I had no chance.  I was

the geeky girl with no idea,

swayed by what might have been.

lost, seeing through dark curtains, smoke

so thick everything distorted,  a blurry

cartoon, swipes of color behind closed eyes.  I can’t see!

The tragic hero

showing up unannounced

in my dreams.  What poor choices would

he make next? With his mopey face and

sad eyes; and me, years

later,  tossing the past

out the window, shreds

of paper, old

love letters in the wind; words

disappear.