Sitting at the christened tablecloth
in a yellow strapless gown,
gandering at each of my brothers,
stapled visages of the beau ideal,
despite the most weary of cause.
My hands are clasped in my lap��
fidgeting like I did when I was twelve,
tracing the blue embroidered flower
against the golden background.
Someone��s getting married.
Averting thru the glass sliding door
over my right shoulder,
I envy the shade of a thick oak tree.
Oh, to lay in the velvet grass
before such a formidable presence!
Turning my head back around,
I feign a smile at my eldest brother.
Aunt Mary is drunk as always.
Uncle Bob is teaching the nephews
how to light up a Cuban.
Nana is currying the flower girls.
Marissa is preening the ring bearers.
Grandpa is advising the bridesmaids.
Uncle Herm is scoring underage drinks
for cousins Michael and David.
The band escorts a ragtime beat.
My father asks me for a dance.
Descending the patina wood floor,
I catch Chrissy swiping champagnes
off tables in the corner of my eye.
Bride & Groom mount the podium,
I slip away to the bathroom
to be crowded at the entrance
with freshly touched-up women,
as if it made a difference.
The birth of new love��
encased in a glass room.
Eloping outside, I free my feet
and dwall beneath the oak tree,
to echoes of a Scott Joplin age.