Vows

They march into the courthouse,
joyous and assured.
The county seal on the marriage license
flashing gold in the April morning sunlight.

Her cherry-blossom capris strut in time

with his pleated, baby-blue trousers.

Yet, what of this insurrection forming
amid the strands

of her prized, auburn crown?

"Don't be ridiculous!" the bride protests,
stumbling over the threshold.

She is twenty-two years old,

cheeky and incandescent.

Her sterling charm bracelet

dazzles the songbirds.

The sunflowers and marigolds

stand at attention when she passes.

In the courtroom, he testifies
to a conspiracy of mutinous white hairs.

She refuses to concede,
so he plucks a pair─his and hers─

and enters them into evidence.

"Now," he declares,
"we both wear true love's noble reward."

To which she replies:
would he kindly shut the hell up?

The gavel smacks.

They face one another,

startled and stripped of grandeur,

held at once
by the dread of retreat
and a reckless promise 

of something divine.