Heaven Is a Luau under a White Tent by the Little Lake


I found myself in heaven last Saturday night 
at a reunion where the same friends bantered 
happy and polite until someone started 
pulling the pork out of someone else’s sandwich,
another ate cheesecake with his hands.
Some rode canoes on the calm lake;
others raced along the shore.  No one tipped over.

The same clock tower chiming the hour,
all the leaves full-throttle green.
Our retired college president posed for pictures,
kissing us on the cheek.  His English accent, the same.
It didn’t matter if you exchanged a ponytail
for a buzz cut or an engineering degree 
to be a stay-at-home mother.

Everyone at their core, the same — 
Big Red blood coursing our veins.
We danced in a conga line to a 9-piece band,
cheeks rosy, blouses and dress shirts 
sticking to our backs with sweat,
hoping a sweet song would outlast 
the tiki torches glistening off the water.