I eavesdrop on the deli manager

tell an older gentleman

where he went to high school

It’s the teacher names

not his graduation year

that tells me

he was,

once upon a very long time ago,

my student.

.

His class was my westside Dead Poet’s Society

studying Shakespeare and Frost

between whole-class bouts of

(them) learning to write essays

(me) being taught how to play spades

.

Neither lesson was necessary for the real world.

.

I wrap my sandwich and leave quietly

not wanting to disturb his today

with my yesterday

yet still be satisfied

that a little piece of something I did

once upon a very long time ago

continues living on in this world

long after

Shakespeare and Frost

have died on our tongues