Two housewives gossip as the bridesmaids
waltz. The cake, they buzz. The flowers.
Marriage has left them disappointed,
but each takes off in faith, a fragile skater
on thin ice, crying, You’ll find happiness!
as the couple drives off.
2) I see Hells Angels
in my rearview mirror, regular bad-ass
foul-mouthed thugs gunning their cycles,
spread-eagled in black, their arms out-stretched
as if in crucifixion. They pull over
beside a stranded car, as, horrified, I watch,
expecting carnage. They hand the guy water.
Oh, the mind’s a willful pessimist
but sometimes you can find a fragile flower—
the only one surviving winter frost.