Old people playing hooky
From rest homes came
Offering to sell me secrets
In brown envelopes
Stashed for years
I told them I was broke
They said I could pay later
One said she knew me
Or someone she forgot
Who once danced with her
And told her she was
One of the prettiest girls
Back in high school
When cheerleaders jumped
Over goal posts
And fullbacks fell down
Clutching footballs
In elusive end zones
I ordered her secrets
And promised to pay
She looked at me
Harshly and said
She wasn’t sure
I was a good risk

John Garmon is a writing assistant at the College of Southern Nevada, Las Vegas, and he once was president of Berkeley City College in California. His poems and stories have appeared in Prairie Schooner, Ploughshares, Clackamas Literary Review, The Oregonian and many more.