Pepto-Bismol ruined pink for me
and I, like a walking bottle of it
with my thick black helmet head of hair,
trip my way down the aisle in this completely uncooperative gown.

The moos of a cow being tipped spew into the air like humming
from the church organ that leads me to a girlhood death
just in time to launch me into my thirties, out of my stagnant youth,
as if God himself is holding a mirror under my nose
to see if I'm still breathing.