Wedding cake

You do

make out life’s smorgasbord
of hot and cold dishes
on the horizon –
salivate, it’d be rude not to.

You do

see a uniform table
that splays bright orange felt
east to west, a water jug
that weeps brambles.

You do

introduce yourself to the
wedding party, you express
hereditary borrowed at
the last minute.

You do

attract by sheer
gravitation; your spontaneous
semisweet stockings
prove personable.

You do

forget the names of people
you grew up with, you loyally
remember the memorable
strangers.

You do

wrap up a slice of cake
for the road, you cradle its
moist echo-action
of the journey home.

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