I just saw your photo on Instagram
and fifty years have barely touched you.
Sure, you have shorter hair, but you
could be sitting barefoot and cross-legged
in the window of our dorm room, smoking
a Lucky Strike and sketching in that black
journal you loved. Your demin jacket could
be hanging on the back of an oak chair,
John Mayall blowing Room to Move
on the stereo.

I bet, like me, you would never want
to sign back in for another semester
of all that. We both know nostalgia will
always fail study hall, ditch geometry,
and blot out the all-night coffee & chaos.
It’s just that we’re both still recognizable.
You, with your PhDs, your scholarship
and your “We’re Not Going Back” t-shirt.
Me, with my 12-string, my ancient dog
and my bad back.