Saints, Marriage: Out
The bed was burdened during the evening beating. Headboard rattling.
Streams of rosaries and scapulas strung around the bedposts. Saints,
dangling charms to ward off the evil eye and bad spirits. They peered
up from silver, gold and plastic beads, catching the braided leather belt.
Earlier at 4 p.m., lilies hung low from the plastic
arbor set up by the BBQ pit and iced tea station.
Pristine before the storm, the band and beer.
Now itâ€™s midnight. The brideâ€™s drunk.
Her bridesmaid lifts her dress in an open stall
of this hick bathroom. Billows of taffeta stained
with rain, mud and who-knows-what-else. To top
it off, sheâ€™s barefoot too.
The groom doesnâ€™t notice her hemâ€™s fallen
out on the floor and is taking up more dirt
from the bathroom to the bar.
Sheâ€™s wandered out of earshot when he turns
to me and says, â€œA bit drunk and pregnant,
but cute.â€ By then sheâ€™s thrown up cole slaw,
and potato salad over the floured down dance floor
and passed out. Her face a white poof.