Ode to an Open-Bar Wedding

I’m pounding piano keys, drunkenly,

near the open bar of a wedding

And you’ll survive me; all that clanging,

a good trace of us on its breath…

Still, no one will answer your prayers,

no, not until you take off that dress


So Marry! Marry!—marry well—

the purse you ferried,

to the dirt, something like searing feet

came trampling out

you carved a name for yourself,

in the shoulder of a canvas you lovingly held


The ache is amorous delight;

married on a Sunday,

the polymath of epicures—

drinks forever now on her


Mary, your ocean is blue like your brother—

the tang of fresh cut flowers

Sometimes, I treat my book like a lover—

hold it tender till it recovers


I’ll remember that open-bar wedding—

the piano, and its clanging

The white of your canvas just beginning;

the red of my book—

a tome long-bleeding—

well-worth the lettering


Like pried-apart ribs,

it’s the gift that keeps on giving

A liquored breath—

a wish to have ruddy hands,

to watch her married coolly on a Sunday,

while the piano pounds along to the conjugal mob.


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