Of a day long remembered and much fraught

You,

boy on the bench opposite mine,

what book is it that you read?

The glare of the Sun is blinding, yes?

I know, for I, too, read.

But if you do not recall the book, take heart,

I do not remember mine.

It now occurs to me that your headache must be worse than mine is,

for I wore no glasses in those days,

but you do.

I remember thinking ill of you, somehow.

I had seen you in halls and ways,

and was annoyed.

Time has taught me that I was really annoyed at the mirror you were of myself.

The mirror you are, even now.

You wait for a parent to arrive in a car,

as I do.

We are but boys.

We command no fate.

But here, together, these several feet apart,

our fates observe each other.

I cannot speak for you,

but upon myself, you've left a mark.

I read so seldom now, on benches like these.

Less, still, in such a blinding Sun.

But that day in the light I paused from my pages and saw you.

Did you see me?