For Gwen

A red Jetta passes
& I’m transported 20 years,
pulling in next to yours
at Pennsylvania Pizza
where you are holding court
over Wednesday happy hour,
top-shelf vodka in hand.
Susan is on her second Yuengling,
Caren’s animated, Carl is late
& you are still but for the shine
in your eyes when mentioning
your son’s promotion
& your grandbabies down Atlanta.
Did you keep that efficiency
upstairs when Pennsylvania Pizza
sold out & became a Hooters?
Did you still order Stoli
on the rocks, Baby-Doll?
I can hear your voice.
I can feel the twinkly grin
that said You can’t fool me,
Girl, I know what you’re up to.
You always did. Yes, you always did.