From my fake attic on a summer-filled day,
I saw one car pull into the driveway.
Ma told me the smallest Chance was to be married,
one whom I had not seen in a lifetime.
Three siblings reared their tanned, Italian-American faces,
as if Florida was constantly in their pockets.
The lone female, whom I never spoke one word to in reality,
proved to be the most enthusiastic in greeting me.
Then, the wedding party stormed the top shelf,
Mr. Endress and Miss McGuire among them,
and an eccentric face I should have recognized,
yet had not a single idea of her identity.
Last, another stranger embraced me,
a black woman who herself showed an unfamiliar face,
then revealed herself to be one of my favorite southern belles.
Before any walk down the aisle took place,
before I saw the bride in all her virginal splendor,
before I even got a grip on the meaning of the occasion…
I woke up from my slumber
in my real bedroom,
on an anti-summer-filled morning.