High School Sweethearts

The same house from the same car.
He rings to offer himself to her,
standing on a mat that doesn't not say
"Welcome." Memories of pink satin sheets
and living room Saturday nights
behind that door rush back,
from when district lines and school halls
called them equals.

She is the same, but shinier
walking taller from high heels and experience.
He can no longer afford her. After all,
he forgot the car door.

Some things never change
(she will still have to lie when she gets home).
Always out of place in his
suburban scenery, she shares
his curb and cigarette.
It is a reenactment with different actors,
and she smiles to herself now
as, corrected, he opens her door
because she is no longer starting over
from the same place.