Every five years, as summertime nears,An announcement arrives in the mail.
A reunion is planned; it'll be really grand.
Make plans to attend without fail.
I'll never forget the first time we met;
We tried so hard to impress.
We drove fancy cars, smoked big cigars,
And wore our most elegant dress.
'twas quite an affair; the whole class was there.
It was held in a fancy hotel.
We wined and dined, and acted refined.
Everyone thought it was swell.
To achieve fortune and fame.
While spouses described their fine houses,
And how beautiful their children became.
The homecoming queen, who'd once been
lean, now weighed in at one ninety-six.
The jocks who were there
Had all lost their hair.
Cheerleaders could no longer do kicks.
No one had heard about the class nerd
Who'd guided a spacecraft to the moon;
Or poor little Jane, who'd always been plain.
She married a shipping tycoon.
The boy we decreed "most apt to succeed"
Was serving ten years in the pen.
While the one voted least was now a priest.
How wrong we can be, now and then!
They awarded a prize to one of the guys
Who seemed to have aged the least.
Another was given to the grad who'd driven
The farthest to attend the feast.
They took a class picture, a curious
mixture of beehives, crew cuts, wide ties.
Tall, short or skinny, the style was mini;
You never saw so many thighs.
At our next get-together, no one had cared
If they impressed their class mates, or not.
The mood was informal, a whole lot more
normal.
By this time we'd all gone to pot.
It was held out-of-doors, at the meadow lake shores.
We ate hamburgers, cole slaw and beans.
Then most of us lay around in the shade
In our comfortable t-shirts and jeans.
By the fiftieth year, it was abundantly clear,
We were definitely over the hill.
Those who weren't dead had to crawl out of bed,
And be home in time for their pill.
And now, I can't wait; they've set the date!
Our sixtieth is coming, I'm told.
It should be a ball; they've rented a hall
At the Shady Rest Home for the old.
Repairs have been made on my hearing aid;
My pacemaker's been turned up on high.
My wheelchair is oiled, and my teeth have been boiled,
And I've bought a new wig and glass eye.
I'm feeling quite hearty, and I'm ready to party.
I'm gonna dance 'til dawn's early light.
It'll be lots of fun, but I just hope that there's one
Other person who can make it that night.
Iambic Hal-tameter, by poets laureate
Al Mond and Phil Bert
What is the date of the 60th?? Can't wait!
ReplyDelete