Room Temperature

The tie has small ducks on it,

flying in a grid that never moves.

My cousin is marrying a man

who owns three different types of lawnmowers.

Someone laughs so hard they start to cough,

a wet, jagged sound that cuts

through the music in the corner.

I press the plastic cup to my skin

until my knuckles turn the color of salt.

The condensation has traveled down,

leaving a wet ring on the back of my hand.

Nobody is looking.

The ice is almost gone.