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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