That’s me, standing in the third row
with a wiseacre grin, skinny and blond,
taller than the others. Of the rest, George
and Jane, Jacqueline and Tom, a class
of sixteen and I recall nearly all the names:
the boys in white shirts or plaid; the girls
in skirts and bobby socks. Mrs. Brewster
stands to the right, dark hair, a benign smile.
