Today, we go to the wedding of Carolyn’s cousin.
Carolyn is singing so she will go to the country-club
early to rehearse. I will meet her there, among
her extended family, most of whom describe
our arrangement to any who ask as “living in sin.”
Contrarily, I suppose they mean, to how they live.
Her grandma canes any aunts who dare indulge us.
I wear my decent shoes, but didn’t get a haircut.
Everyone drinks in the face of so much ceremony.
I will not marry in a temple to golf. Or in any
other building. Nor will I wear shoes.
Carolyn and I held hands and observed the homily.
When she sang, people cried. The couple's candle flamed blue.
The driving range at sunset, a bride at the booze.
