People You May Know, it read.
She found it easy, scrolling there, down, down.
People her anthropologist acquaintance knew.
(Passing acquaintance, mind you, collecting data.)
People her old school chum knew.
(Mrs. Green’s third grade class! As if she could recall.)
People her third cousin, twice-removed, knew.
(Can you add me to your relatives list, he’d asked.)
People her weekend Wine-and-Cry group knew.
(He was a Merlot with a small Chablis, one sighed.)
Further down, scrolling down, down. There!
An empty profile holding emptier memories.
The name of someone she Had known, once.
A quick look, all she needed.
One look only, she insisted.
And there she stayed, one look only.
One peek lasting five days, three hours, seventeen minutes
(But who was counting?).
The About page was hardly About.
The Photos page was faceless.
No interests, no hobbies, no favorites to Like.
A blank space with only the name,
But one spot consumed by smiling Friends.
(People You May Know? she wondered.)
So she clicked once, again, again, once more again,
The faces unraveling, undone across the state.
Right then, in fact. Right there, you know,
She froze the screen, halting the train.
She hadn’t been invited in.
Nevertheless, she’d stopped to see, perhaps to stay.
After all, she’d found a friendly face,
One much like her own.
If she was a good guest, all the better.
After all, two women scorned, together, over coffee,
Make for good People You May Know.
In response to the WordPress Prompt Guest