"This wedding is some hell:

A bouquet of cacti wilting in my hand

while my closest friends

sit on a bar bench, 

stir the sickles in their drinks,

smile up at me.

The moon points out my neckline
like a chaperone. 

My veil is fried tongue and chicken wire,
hanging off to one side. 

I am a Mexican American fascinator."

From Do You Speak Virgin

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