The Teeth of It

The cake was too sweet and the champagne was flat,

but the speech was a knife in the gut.

The father stood up in his silk-collared hat

and opened a door that stayed shut.

A key on a ribbon, a deed in a box,

a house with a yard and a view.

The groom didn't know about timing or shocks,

or the things that a worker must do.

I looked at my hands while the people all cheered,

at the grease tucked deep under the nail.

The black rinds of labor, the things I have feared,

are marks of a different trail.

I saw his palm open, so unlined and white,

like a page that has never been blurred.

I wanted to break something heavy tonight,

without saying a single damn word.