Long ago, I wrote poetry. Quite a bit. This poem has got to be six or seven years old, but I still like it.

Hello, My Name Is

We’ve met before.

Does God recycle souls?

We go back

beyond Jesus’ boyhood,

back in the day

when He hung out

instead of on

the cross.

You, sulking in the corner

Can you spare a dime?

Can you spare some time?

Can you pay

some mind?

I’m be-badged and it tells a story,

some story,

maybe even mine.

But still I’m wondering

if we’ve met before

when Elizabeth Taylor was young

when only the rich could fly

when the Savior was in boot camp.

We watched each other then,

nodding warily over crossed swords.

I know you.

Introduce yourself.