I Have Been Here Before

I Have Been Here Before
(for JD Salinger)

I am not the little boy on the cruise ship.
I am not the little boy staring out the porthole,
ignoring my parents while they argue.
I am not the little boy who has been dismissed.
I am not the little boy wandering the decks,
hair tousled by a female passenger
who thinks she has the right to touch
with concerned affection any passing child.
I am not the little boy who scribbles
in his journal. I am not the little boy
who knows what life is and writes it down
in pencil. I am not the little boy
who flaps his lips during the random
encounter with the stranger
who sits on my father’s lounge chair.
There are no strangers;
there are no accidents.
I have been here before.
Don’t look it in the mouth.
That’s what I would’ve said to the stranger
if I had been that little boy.
I would’ve said: Life, my friend,
is just a portal. Then, I would’ve kept
my appointment, taken my swimming lesson
and drown even though I am not,
and never was that little boy;
maybe next time ‘round.
After, of course, telling the stranger:
You look familiar.
You have been here before too.