June 26, Indiana

June 26, Indiana

I swore my tongue would run dry
when I said my vows. Of course it did,
but not for the reasons I predicted. Instead
of walking the long mile together,
confessor and confessee, I felt we had just crossed
a finish line with county clerks silently mouthing Congratulations,
afraid their bosses might overhear. Wariness

in the eyes of the court house regulars. They knew,
put hands to their mouths when they whispered,
as if they suspected I could read lips. I could,
for what it’s worth. “It happened yesterday,” they wisped,
“and look how fast they’re jumping in.” Yes.
Yes, damn it! Three years was enough of a courtship
for us. I wanted to ask how long theirs was–

instead I sucked water from the nearest fountain
and silently recited my vows.

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