Poems of the Week

To Sir Roger

by Rosemarie Keenan

When I was young
(ten years, six months, some days)
And my heart was an open book
eager for danger and love,
I used to say live and let live
and snuck into movies my mom disapproved of
and fell for a man:
perfect hair.

But when this ever-changing world in which we’re living—
no room for a Bond with a quip on his lips—
Makes me give in and cry,
I raise a glass,
Say live
(and good-bye).