Wedding Piñata
       

In the rented performance space
the devil's head is rigged with a hanger
inverted into a question mark
under which a ring of children
crouch poised for the gathering,
while the wedding party wolfs down
miniature pigs-in-blankets, duck
with Thai peppers, curried goat
steaming in milk, just as the Buddha-
headed best man leather-clad, bull-
pierced swings the sawed-off hockey
stick as if carving calligraphy from air,
then the bride's father and his scotch
wielding like a terribly old knight
nearly decapitates his wife of forty years,
catching her sequined beret, her silver
wig shimmering like a mackerel
in the flickering strobe as we take turns
tying the red bandana over our eyes,
ready to receive instruction or cigarette.
Times like this, one prays there is life
on other planets, that someday cruising
in their space jalopies they'll sputter
and stall and see with their one good eye
what we all see here on the purgatory
of the dance floor-our mirrored ball,
our ruin of disco vexed in the couple
swaying, saying soft things, waiting
for one lucky fool to hack and flay
some hidden pleasure, some sweet rain.

Copyright © 2009 James Hoch All rights reserved
from Copper Nickel
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission