Nov 21

In the Airport Chapel

They’re holding a zombie wedding.  The groom
is wearing not-enough-oxygen.  The bride’s
horseshoe pillow is stapled to her neck.
The guests are delayed, distracted, their gifts
more cyborgian than undead—cell phone
headsets, automatic toilet flushers.

This is the sonnet read by the minister over courtesy phone. 
It’s plastered inside a mystery novel by the former
queen of Slovakia, available now in the Roadhouse 66,
where the best man is choking down a beer.
The wedding party is doing its jerky dance now,
bride and groom lurching down the aisle to embark
on a marathon tour of concourses.  The loudspeaker
congratulates them by every name but their own.