"Marriage," by Erika Meitner
Improvisation:
Her Last Hurrah
Today she wakes cherub-faced, robes the satin
of her skin in the seams of her maiden name,
ready to cheek the night's festivities with a bride-
to-be attitude. Tonight, seven sisters, seven specially
chosen, will dress her in silly garb: a silk sash that
apologizes for all the trashy behavior, a tiara crowning
promiscuity, suckers shaped penis tacked on to every
thing female about her body, and slutty slurs, well-humored
as she tramps down the catwalk in Nashville. The brides-
maid's all envious with praise. Flirting with midnight, she
cries in the backseat of my Tahoe, filing a thumbnail with
the surface of a laminated license, scratching at the ink
of her last name.
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