Bride (a response to Bride by John Salt, 1969)
After the cutting of cake he drives her away.
You best get in the back, he says,
as she crosses and uncrosses her long legs,
playing with the sunlight that spills
into the shifting folds of her mother’s ivory satin.
This stuff means one thing to one person,
another thing to another, he says
as the chambers of her heart fill with Cherry B
and she sinks into a womb studded with black clots