What if, dizzy and low on sugar,
walking down the aisle, you get
overwhelmed by all you can’t
have – not the groomsmen
with their puckish smiles, not
the sweat of the neighbor’s body,
jogging in polyester shorts at 6 am,
or gathering fallen branches
from his yard late evening,
stopping to lift his cap and
wipe his brow? What if you’re
about to spend your life making
gallons of sweet tea and love,
and only one man holding out
a glass to you?
downed your first pour in a gulp,
the ice settled loud and hollow,
now you tilt the pitcher again.
What flows out of you as you
reach the altar, your groom
well hydrated and still thirsty,
the preacher smiling like to
eat you alive?