On Being Hailed by the Former Head Cheerleader of One's Midwestern High School Whilst Crossing Boston Common

On Boston Common, one fine Sabbath

A horrid sound heard I;

It caused all but the stony deaf

To turn their heads to spy

From whence it came, and why.

 

 

And only I could answer that

As my name thus was hurled

By a shaker of pom-poms with eclat

When she was but a girl

Who wore her hair in curls.

 

 

I turned and gaped-

In horror gasped--

There was no clear escape.

Down Winter Street, up Park perhaps?

Too late-she had me in her grasp.

 

"Remember me?" she yelled, "It's Sal!"

"Of course!" (Had I a choice?)

"Your very favorite high school gal!"

(Boom boxes would admire the noise

produced by that resounding voice.)

 

 

By gestures fine and subdued tones

I tried to quiet her skirl.

But she was launched into that zone

Where cartwheels whirl

And flags unfurl.

 

"How's your sister, how're your folks?"

"Just fine and how are yours?"

"They're great!" she cried. 

The dead awoke,

Left their coffins, came outdoors
And marched towards us, four-by-four.

            "She who disturbs the day of rest,"
            The Puritan shades decreed,
            "Shall wear a letter on her chest
            To signify her loathsome deed,
            Size large, so those who run may read."

           

"Let's see," said she, "I'll take an S,
a U, two C's, an E,
then two more S's on my dress-
That's really all I'll need,
A penitential life to lead."

This cryptogram so mystified
The souls of the living dead
They sought to have her clarify,
After scratching diaphanous heads.

"We're wondering," at last one said,
"What meaning do these symbols bear?
What object do they address?"
"It's simple! These letters I will wear
"'cause 'S-u-c-c-e-s-s'--
That's the way we spell SUCCESS!"