Life Of The Party

Counting the musicians,
there are 26 people at the altar.
One catches my eye.

And no, it’s not the
I think is the cutest of the baker’s dozen.
(Don’t judge me.
Every guy does this at weddings.
We make a sort of mental note of
which bridesmaid we might talk to
at the reception if given the invitation.
We have a back-up maid, too).

The only life of this party that
I see is the
flower girl.
Glowing white and innocence,
yawning, stretching,
arms crossed adorable,
comfortable in her skin but not in the dress.
Too young to have picked up

The only one in the entire room
more bored than me.