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A LAMENT FOR THE PASSING OF ABBY’S CLASS AT THE Y

A LAMENT FOR THE PASSING OF ABBY’S CLASS AT THE Y
Bruce MacDonald
Boothbay, Maine

Where is that old gang of mine that used to meet
three times a week
So ably led by that ray of sunshine
Abby, Greeted as we were by Charlie
At the desk, and the old guys
Gathered round the lobby table,
Making big decisions for the world.

Where’s Joe in the Corner there,
Or Debbie on the roadside wall
Or Jim in the corner, back of everyone,
Then Kathy, Paula, Georgia, Pam
And what’s-His-name; what’s he up to now?
Where are they all?

Or John and his biggest fan Marie, or
Kerry, or for that matter, Lee,
And how we miss the sisters
Robin of the graceful pirouette,
and Louise, the hardest working one of all,
Not to mention that hipster Paul,
And the occasional Mary,
The oldest of our faithful gang,
Except perhaps for me.

And holding down the center once
With graceful purpose and total
Calm there was Jill, and there
Was Nancy; now they’ve vanished,
A space is all that’s left.

Or coming to the end, where’s helpful Ben
And his other, the significant one,
Or the other Abby, dancer non-pareil,
Or Robert, silent and tall…..
And where is what’s-Her-name who showed up
Every now and then, a local Venus
If you will, stepping off her scallop shell
To dance among us all?

Then coming close To home,
there was Lois always looking calm and cool,
But where’s she now?
And Trixie with the whitest hair
Just like mine, two beacons on the right.

But, now we’re gone, banished
To our farther corners, all,
Mere ghosts or sprites,
Memories in the air.

Once, on the floor of the Y
We did a dance and a stretch
a jog and a march. O
Where are they now, my friends
Of the swing, the sweat,
The chatter, the laugh,
In this suddenly
Silent spring?

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