Chaste or eye-catching, in rainbow verticals and horizontals,
business cards flutter into your waste paper basket;
data once requested brightly over the smoked salmon
at some forgotten schmooze, no date or connotation …

You had assumed his company/degree/profession
would trigger recall, as you networked feverously
in accordance with practices outlined in pop manuals.
A salesman smiles up at you confidently from the carpeting …

he’ll have moved on by now … even if that firm still exists.
You linger on a name you noted yesterday, maybe
in the business section — no, the obituaries, someone who
had just taken early retirement — to spend time “with the family.”

A decent person. So you write “RIP — wherever you are,”
on the card’s back and replace it — until next January’s cull.

Joan Latchford, January 4th, 2004

To read other poems by Joan, click on the links below:

What Did I Say?

A Christmas Wish