Elder Mischief

Fifty years since last we bantered, 
attending our neighbourhood
high school, whispered our 
considered opinion about boys
and likely prospects, nudged each
other when another friend
distinguished herself embarrassingly,
visited each other's homes, played
"nice" girl around one another's
parents when we giggled, knowing
we were not at all "nice", cattily
defending our loose clique,
flirting with someone else's boy
friend, criticizing unfortunate
wardrobe bloopers, flaunting our
accessories, natural and otherwise,
ignoring decorum for another type
of reputation while disobeying 
authority but circumspectly, and
wincing in pain at our parents'
generation, ourselves dancing
feverishly to the music of our own.
And then adulthood elbowed all 
that aside as those experiences
melted deep within the basement
of our memory. Yet on meeting again
though the eyes are tired and cheeks
wrinkled, those grins hold
something impressively familiar.