Sonnet in Escalating Clock Speed
After the rehearsal dinner the men jam into
the groom’s suite. I take the barcalounger,
wash down tiramisu with lite beer—lite
as in comfortable, easy, fun, and festive,
as in eating, watching, singing, dozing
–things involving no talk. Having fun
or not, we leave at the end, not with
satisfaction or tears, but with guilt.
I sip and swish a globule of lite
beneath my tongue. Existence
is as dark or light as we live,
the impulses we suppress
to fit in during our in-
creasingly lite lives.