Twenty

or more years

since I jived at Sylvia's wedding

with six stitches snagging dark stockings,

poor attempt at obscurement.

I shimmied, wary,

she shimmered in white satin;

I was white,

as well,

for the wound ached like...

well...

she moved to Houston, I stayed put,

she learned to bake cookies,

gathered a pride of girls' night out friends

and I...

lost my looks, career and then,

my health.

~

Still, can't begrudge her happiness

though I can't resist the slightest nudge,

small poke

with a swizzle stick –

wonder how

the needlework's coming on?