A poem for Brian and Lindsay's wedding.

This is what I'll be reading on Saturday, for those of you who won't be there (or for those of you who will be there but want a preview):

I come to you, my listeners, as the only
eyewitness of the end of Brianless Lindsay;
she perished nobly, driving 85
down a Carolina highway, getting caught
by cops in Rocky Mount, trying to flirt
her way out of a ticket. It didn't work,

but later that same night, she flirted herself
straight into something worse, the ponderous clod
who wobbles before us now, and ponderous marriage,
a density of man and institution,
a Jupiter whose pull is obligation.
Despite it all, against my better reason,

I want to orbit this gaseous entity:
in there's my oldest friends, who stuck with me
through awful high school, and a girl who helped
make New York bearable, with wit and kindess.
I'll call it late at night. I'll have a beer
with it. I'll be its happy satellite.