A Red Hook Wedding

Sunday soft light
healing the sun as it hides from us;
waterfront sky cradles our liberation
drunken trellis of characters ambling
the same in bright suits, jackets, dress and colours
around garden plots, lattices and eyes occasional
peering, our pre nuptial drinking dangerously
near the pissing corner, in the weeds
laughter, red wine blesses her dress corset
his sad eyes I see, I look through him
he looks through me
except when I slip loud fantastical fare
outside the bar, on the grey street
he looks from within darkness at me
I don't think he recognizes me anymore.
I drink the irishman's whiskey
on purpose
unapologetic and smiling
we traipse our procession
down to the back garden, lit with dumplings
and an even brighter side of drunk
Did he, the gay brother with the cowboy hat oversized-
did he expose me to crowd when we danced? she asks...
I was too busy wrapping my legs around poles
Statue of David saw the same come and go
and we jutted out at sunnys
the watering hole of the original people we were
when we moved here.  We look around
even in our frustrations, goals, failures and
the unfolding of time
we smile at our neighboring enemies
old friends, lovers and the butts of jokes
we're the luckiest lot in the known universe
to be sailing round this misfit ship
safely with our feet on the ground, and belonging
in the roots of each other's better natures.
Everyone's a romeo, the breeze off the shore
tugboat blows
us down the dark familiar zones to home,
drunk in bed with a bellyful still feasting
swarming in our bellies, we dance to our own
solid tune.

M. Lucia