it was in the elks lodge at east haven Connecticut
that the wedding guest saw his failure clear its
bitter taste mingling with weak cocaine
the band was playing bar band stuff
all the drunken women had been scooped
and he was very drunk again himself
he had driven down from boston in his salt rotted car
down 95 through pawtucket and providence his last
dollars in his pocket
the weather winter
the day gray and drawing in
he was shown to a couch in a basement
where he might crash
other arrangements being beyond the reach of poverty
he had brought no present but himself
nor any wish of well
how the invitation found him was
an answer looking for a question
there was no bachelor party
but all who wished could drink as a mob
at the holiday inn
the groom was there with his bride to be
a group was rounded up to go to toads place
the wedding guest got into a random car
tagging along for dear life
certain chance revelers used him kindly
for the sake of the glad occasion and
made him welcome in their fashion
stealing such moments from the surge of life as
circumstance allowed and these were few enough
for the fact remained he was an outsider
and left to his devices short of cash
next day at the wedding mass
the celebrant spoke of the good wine
from the wedding feast at cana
that wine is jesus christ he said
the wedding guest prayed for an open bar
badly needing intervention
as the wedding folk dispersed toward the elks
he saw the priest smoking in the parking lot
feeling in need of further blessing he said
that was a good sermon father
thanks are ye off to the party then
watch out for that open bar
he wanted
to dance in the open air like a peasant with his codpiece bulging to
come home from the hunt in the snow with blood on his clothes to
share bean soup with his fellow villagers at the feast to feed on
joy like the bright gods
he stood in one spot and then another all night
speaking to no one
drinking as much as he could
while the going was good
as he froze in his old car that night
he slipped into his fantasy world
and dreamed again that he was a hunter
stalking through the winter woods
his quarry had fled bearing many wounds
but the blood on the dinted snow was his own
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