She isn't beautiful,
but there is something about her;
draws them in.
Becoming the bride a second time
by age twenty-six, and I
wonder why she is seeking love in eyes
blood-shot
from all-night
drunken stupors;
observe from a distance, placing bets
on how long 'til divorce
is dying to knock on their door.
Contemplate both girls', under six,
innocent,
caught in a whirl-wind of momma's marrying
a man they don't want to call daddy.
For all my doubts about their future I
offer to make the cake;
four tiers of royal blue, silver, and white.
She isn't a virgin. I always found it odd
that women wed in white
when they've been dipped in the pink
too many damn times to count.
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
the metaphor in it...very nicely done
