“My people” come as ghosts, as
memories, and friends;
The punchbowls at reunions taste of
vague acquaintences
Faces and names that don't match up,
like socks in a drawer.
That I can't even remember why I
remember anymore,
So I treasure the first three groups,
try to entertain the rest,
and let Facebook assume that we're all
BFFs.
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