My wife and I are attending a wedding
and we’re at a reception dining table
in an outdoor pavilion in heat
unlike anything we’ve had yet
this summer.
She looks at me.
She sees something strange, runny and brown,
in my silver hair. Dirt? Mud? Bird shit?
Bird shit is not usually that color,
the color of dog poop.
Despite how it may look
to other revelers, she takes her napkin
and wipes the offending stuff out of my hair.
She doesn’t think to smell it or taste it,
but it becomes clear in short order.
I had touched with my fingers
the melted chocolate covered pretzels
in my little snack plate and proceeded
to run my hands through my hair.
She has rescued me
from the embarrassment of mingling
or dancing in such a state,
and the newlyweds should take note:
this is what marriage looks like.
michael jarmer 