The fanfare begins
The feet of 100 nervous graduates come together
Attentive to the music, an oral instruction book for their march to the stage
And you
In the mess of individuals stick out like a sore thumb in my eyes

Unwillingly, I service these instructions for you
Directed by the make of these processional blueprints

I rebel against the document in front of me
With symbols that speak of melodies, harmonies, and chords



Slow the tempo
Stretch the fermata's
Refrain from that horrid second ending, which proclaims your childhood

Fine

Save me, Mr. Conductor, from the Recessional, where we say
Goodbye
And you exit to the parking lot
While I exit to the band room, which will no longer consist of our jokes and laughter
Rather silence and empty moments that should have been filled with smiles and conversation
Conversation shared between two friends
A friendship that died in a gym
A friendship that died because of me