Tonight's Poet Corner: Second Night

Second Night
by Belinda Roddie

We spent an evening at Brown's house,
exactly twenty hours after the wedding,
and, like bastards from the Shetland Islands,
we passed bottle and flagon around and felt
hot honey whiskey burn our innards. I wore
my silver band with pride and an
ounce of courage, and my best man wrapped
a leftover ribbon around my wrist
as a half-assed symbol of fortune.

In the hotel across the way, my new wife
cut her long locks to give herself an older look,
and she knew I would adore the pixie cut,
and she would adore it, too. And ultimately,
when the mead had sunken like stone
into my cavernous belly, I'd walk back
to our room where the champagne bottle was
empty, and the rose petals were wilting, and
her flesh was raw and inviting like the
cold waves of salt settling on
the shores of Lerwick.