“Lakyn” By Matt Hubert © 2007

Four years sharing common
classrooms, complaints and conversations.

You say you sat
front row first term,
but I don’t remember.
We were not friends then.
You say you hated me
by spring freshmen year.
You would say that.
No, I’m not surprised
you rolled your eyes
once or twice.
Annoyed by the voices
of me and my friend
gossiping about boys
before class would begin.

Then sophomore year
you declared: (like me)
an English major
meaning more common courses
shared. Walks between classes
back-to-back enabled
chats. Your hatred didn’t stand
a chance. Acceptance
became friendship—
you never would have guesed it.
By spring we even sat
side-by-side in class
passing high schoolish
notes back and forth
and sharing in a laugh.

The field trip to the zoo
highlighted junior year for me.
And you alone saw me
get licked by a llama.
Even you couldn’t mock my
ChapStick after that kiss—
it inspired poetry
you critiqued for me.
I felt like friendship sprung
that fall, and by spring
the other English majors
felt seeing us together in class
seemed second nature.

Now as seniors,
we comprise
a two-person clique
of successful slackers
with a knack for BS.
Not BFFs, but best
English major friends.
Now we spend time together
in and out of class
because graduation looms,
coming all too soon.

Three months remain at Mercyhurst.
Maybe that’s it.