Toast at my Parents’ Second Wedding

David Moolten

For they everted the irreversible,
Proved all that time my life went door slam
Door slam done an epic waste for the sake
Of argument. But I was firstly contrived
By such improbable whim, so why not
Follow through with the wandering plot,
Penelope sewing and unstitching
The past like a wound, Odysseus
The moment he left headed home like a man
At the end of any workaday day?
The U-Haul in the drive was a miracle
Of low expectations, of feeling better
Than the hurt ever hurt over petty cash
Or the wrong tub of slaw, smashed faces
In frames and a lipstick bloodied shirt,
A thousand pages of annealed annulment,
Each doing undone by the last, here the words
Which remain, the wine-dark sea in a glass.