"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