To say we were passing acquaintances 
would be too thin,
or that we were friends, too thick.

She married a thick stack of old money.
I married and worked.
She volunteered, her picture often featured 
in Sunday’s Style section.

Somewhere along the way
we were on a board together.
After a meeting, I admitted
to finding the proceedings boring.
By the time the elevator reached ground 
zero, I knew she considered me
entirely too thin.

Not long ago over a buffet table and 
after the usual greetings, she asked 
what I’d been doing.
I confessed to poetry, reading and 
even some writing.
Curious, she looked up.

Being attracted to words and wordplay 
since the first time I heard
petroleum as I sat in a large chair
with my small ear tuned to the radio, 
and my latest loves tintinnabulation
and glossolalia.

My stock visibly rising
with the transformative power
of poetry and each mellifluous sound 
and syllable.