The Thin Museum
Verse by William Dennis
Paintings by Michael Guinn
Gallery 7
Every Day’s BrideLace gowns and snuggies, limos and buggies, all wait for Friday’s bride;
parties at golf clubs, champagne in hot tubs, these come to Friday’s bride. Minimum wage, the old man in a rage, in wait for the Saturday’s bride; Slow-growing debt, no-name cigarettes, these are for Saturday’s bride. Un-guessed contentment, reconsidered resentment, settle on Sunday’s bride; a prosperous middle, three kids on one fiddle, endow any Sunday’s bride. Health care not offered and sick time not proffered--not much due Monday’s bride; fluorescent lights, swollen ankles midnights are what waits for Monday’s bride. Husbands and lovers, long stocks and short covers come to a Tuesday’s bride; career but not children, nephews in her will then, wait for the Tuesday’s bride. Daughters displayed, grand-children arrayed at bed-side for Wednesday's bride; sons at her head, a good death in her bed awaits any Wednesday's bride. Diagnosis disputed, insurance refuted, time rushes past Thursday's bride; inside something lingers, days count on her fingers, time slows down for Thursday's bride. None of that matters, the climate in tatters looms over every day's bride; drought sears crops in-land, seas die and rise again, threatening every day's bride. first published in The Ghazal Page (2012)
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