I had a classmate who once left for a trip around the world. He never came back, so I wrote this poem in his memory, wherever he may be now.

Sailor

Jump roping, our legs glissando across the back and white squares painted on that faded blacktop

The teachers watch the abstruse goings-on of our playtime

While we are, in reality

Conquistadors looking for a miraculous treasure and

Delicate Southern belles.

We are detectives

Looking for the lost soccer ball

It's in the bushes!

It's in the street!

(It's in Mesopotamia)

We will cross the Euphrates looking for you:

Our old classmate.

Dissident eyes, questioning what was taught

You taught me more than any lesson plan.

You too had an occupation, though yours was not like ours

We were erroneous fools to you, as you delved into the nucleus of your heart

Pulling out terms, pulling out books, pulling out pens, pulling out Tolkien

You would rather sit by yourself, learning.

I had a feeling you wanted to be like us

But your audacious temperament allowed you to stray away from the group

We got into a tiff, you ran away,

I was a warrior, I didn't take it personally.

You boarded a houseboat, you sailed the world,

When I find you where will you be?

I have a notion you are gone away in a sarcophagus, or

You descended into the Bermuda triangle.

Or that perpetual black hole where everything that is missing goes.

I am an archaeologist,

Looking for you still.