Paul Smith will be sent at twelve to the same new school as I—
a school eight miles away Paul Smith won't want to go to
In class he will cheek the teachers and be punished and not care
He will wear his shirt half-tucked and his tie slip-noosed, off-collar
He will talk crackle-voiced and loud-mouthed and foul-tongued
He will ace tests when he wants to and flunk them if he feels like it
He'll sweep your feet or the football out from under you, whichever's slowest
He'll hurtle the cricket ball within one inch of the batsman's brow
He'll drop his wet towels in a trail from the shower tiles to the doors
He'll parade the locker-room naked, measuring himself with a footrule

Here he waits in the cloakroom, rifling my coat pockets
Here he lists the friends I think I have who secretly despise me 
Here he taunts me to fight him, fight him, until I'm dumb enough to do so
Here he rides the bus beside me, taking three-quarters of the seat
Here he walks me home bouncing a golfball off the bent flinch of my skull

All week he'll saunter through the school gates late and yawn absurd excuses
All term he'll smoke in the toolshed and dump the ash out in the lobby
All year he'll court expulsion until it smacks him cockeyed from our sight 
There are rumors he's been caught torching a wing of his new school— 
there are stories he sent a postcard, his penis grew two inches— 
there are whispers he slipped firecrackers down somebody’s 
mail slot, scared the old coot dead

The few times I do see him he is unfailingly polite
How is everyone
Am I captain of the second year team, I deserve to be
How are classes, he is sure I must be doing well
His voice is rich and full, he’s tall as the skyline, he has a smoker's cough
He shakes hands and says to take care of myself, he means it
He walks away

His stride is like an adult's, whose body fits him perfectly
Who knows where he is going, who in his own good time will get there

I wait till he is almost out of sight; I follow circuitously in the same direction; 
kicking at pebbles; singing
                        

On the ferry to America I kissed Linda Bitternick!
Sally was far away in Virginia, what choice did I have but follow? 
You sap, I thought, at least take a boat to Amsterdam, fly west from there.
My last summer in London this was, my summer of farewells.
“Let’s rowboat around the Serpentine,” said Josh, “come on, farewell!” 
“Italian?” asked Mike, “here’s where, farewell!” 
“Come catch my set,” said Timmy, 
“Bring cornbread,” Lucy’s card read, “I’ll make curry…”
“August,” Sally wrote back, “don’t make me wait till August! 
Your sister can get married without you, I’m your family now.”  
But I did stay till the wedding, and in mid-reception slipped off 
and emigrated. Dad drove me to the station, 
where tearily we grinned into each other’s tipsy mirror, 
locked hold for two seconds, and before we knew it 
turned, train shifting into clatter, all change for the coast, 
last call for the night ferry, farewell.  
And there stood Linda, tall as a cabin door 
and near six foot of hair to hang from it. 
“Derek,” she said, “you hippy, look at you!” 
“Linda,” I said, “hippy yourself, Rapunzel would be proud!” 
“So climb up here,” she said, “and kiss me,” 
and I laughed, 	and kept my distance. 
We strolled the deck and chatted. Half a sixpence moon 
and mizzle, the slap of sea, its churn and churn of lace.  
Linda was living with her boyfriend on a houseboat, 
he was Dutch, and enough her size that she felt—  
“Well, remember when we were, what were we, nine? 
And Mrs. Jones had picked out our two poems to praise, 
and during break I asked you if you’d be my boyfriend? 
And you got the exact same look you had just now, 
when I said kiss me? Ab’s laid that ghost, Derek, 
you can kiss that girl goodbye.”
Spray was kicking up onto the poop deck, we were 
huddled on a bench for warmth, I took her face into my hands 
and tried it, eyes closed, lips closed, not long, like kids.  
Then we rose and leaned out over the rail, 
to peer into the dark where where we’d come from vanished. 
“Yeah, right,” said Linda, and I laughed, 
and the sea’s lace handkerchiefs broke into waves.