Cake for the Groom:: Part IV

It’s Everywhere You Want to Be!

On our way toward what we’re thinking about today,
we picked up some suggestions. Everything that’s left
is over there by the gadgets. We’ll never feel secure,
we fear. No matter what we say
to everyone else. This is quite a large wedding cake I did, even so.
The layers consist of small boats in the calm
spreading out. “You can come to the reception, can’t you?”
Mrs. Cloppart asks, “as I’ve fallen and I can’t stop
talking about myself.” We went to operas on rain and lake
but conversation ground us down. No one ever dared
leave the Tupperware Home Party back then.
“I couldn’t possibly give the details,” Bob said,
looking over his left shoulder apprehensively.
No response is necessary. No date was specified.

•
Then the news hits the wire
and we all stare at each other like monkeys.
“We’ll have supper here unless you want to leave,”
Adam and Dawn say. When they say “we” they mean “you,”
of course. So what we know of them’s always approximate
and incomplete, looking each other over,
out on the porch, making things up on the spot.

•
The complexion of the subdivision changes as the cortege climbs up
over the shoulder of the future
now. And how do you like the new decor?
The interest that developed between the two of them was not lost
on the other members of the wedding party,
or the intermittent breaks of caprock. Ambling this evening,
it’s high, spectacular country,
with an easy entree that the whole gang can enjoy. It’s from this prospect
that a region of homes makes its mark by building big
in the rolling blackouts.
And then you have to deal with your friends’ choice in promises
and apologies. It’s a dangerous business,
as always. Even with the baker of your desire.
And the season is forever for the rest of the week.

•
Carol asks me if I want some cake. Can you imagine that? After everything
we’ve been through? Then it’s night again,
but that’s just a phase we’re going through.
It’s a yearlong requirement.
It can look like great stillness and clarity, as we stood there admiring it
for some time. So white. It’s as if the band still loved us,
there with the dancing couples. Look at them go.
“Bye, everybody!” they seem to say. “It’s been grand!”

Cake for the Groom:: Part III

It’s Everywhere You Want to Be!

So these early days weren’t easy. In many of them
we never get to see Chicago. And then our roots
and early development, at the vanishing point
with big ideas under stained glass. Kids playing on city streets by fire hydrants
and men working on skyscrapers
with their lunch boxes along the girder
hesitate and look left, thinking. The cars looked so good
and sturdy. We must be very malleable,
the Lindy Hoppers decided, high-stepping from their wrecks.
We learned some things right away,
like how it’s starting to be mid-summer in Hopperville. And
we’ve gotten back to the post war optimism already,
but it’s little use figuring which direction we’re headed,
except to say that it has something to do with us not being around
anymore. And it’s impossible to know the extent of it,
when no one defines “it.”
There was Jenny Hoyden holding my hand. “I’ll be seeing you,
Miss Indigo,” I would’ve loved to’ve said. But what’s the use,
as it’s only once. Only once, my heart fair leapt in my throat,
and then come stomach problems.

•
It appears, from the looks on our faces,
the disaster’s not this week. Or at least not for us,
we get to be happy little snails passing by
and waving, even if the ground’s a fairly complex matter.
I’ve decided to study it awhile, there at the stage door.
There are dimensions to the curtain
that we hadn’t begun to guess at yet. Relaxed, almost
smiling. And so that’s it for Act I, at any rate,
and all we can think to do is open a second act. With the swingers hopping,
and the hipsters skipping.
A wall of playbills already yellowing a bit.
We’d call it “Liquored Up, Part II: Their Storied Optimism,”
if we had the energy, which clearly we do, but we still don’t
for some reason. Later,
watching the tracks, she’ll suspect that her husband
doesn’t like her. How many times is hard to tell, though,
as they’ll see each other on the platform without speaking.

•
We’re hopeful, but not sure of things,
stepping from our underwear. There are touching scenes of reconciliation
often. They rang us up just the other day to say they’re somewhere else,
trying something new. “So, is your refrigerator running?” they ask.
We sense there’s more to it, is all.
And all our longing mute and unnamed
the rest of the long afternoon.

Cake for the Groom:: Part II

It’s Everywhere You Want to Be!

We were more interested in fantasy novels for children
in those years, as we were children. And the plastic arts
didn’t do anyone much good either,
up there on the top tier. “Look,
by the time you’re thirty, you’re already dehydrated,”
they say. And look at me. Better yet,
look around, they have signs posted. They say things like In the Fun Room, after a
Touchdown,
and Floating Objectives. I’d go there. I like titles,
such as ceramic guestbook platters and wedding
watercolors. Also specializing in sewn-to-order ring bearer pillows,
flower girl baskets, and accessories. There’s a difference to each one,
of course. You don’t get to just be, something has to happen,
which seems to be reason enough for most things
to happen. Tonight the president will be making a speech,
for instance. So we installed lots of practical storage:
wall shelving, a rail system, and a cabinet for the TV. And we replaced the shutters
with our translucent white shower curtain. There’s not much use
going back, the bride said, trying to remember that song we sang to her
that night so long ago. But the nostalgic tradition
of wedding cake charms and ribbon pulling ceremony
is making a comeback anyway. The music swelled, the clouds . . . A mix of large
and small photo frames can work just as well,
and it makes something of a bold statement, half back in your life,
where things always look a bit better.

•
This’s the way things like this occur,
which’s why I started hoarding after-dinner mints. It’s a fateful move,
as always, I guess. And all those old songs. I wish we
could sing one now, as the live band is starting up
Postlude to America. But then you can’t get it out of your head,
and where does that leave you? Passing by open windows,
perhaps? Perhaps marching? Watching them out there with the cart,
hauling stones? So was it a factory? An orphanage? The day’s
the day. And we break eggs
to make things out of them. But sometimes we’re more private than that,
especially since the hedge crisis. Which’s by no means
a complete selection of our neighborhood endeavors. A fine thing,
we thought, as the monkey falls, but doesn’t fall far,
from the tree. And the chicken’s trying for the fence again. . . .
But that’s just slang. “Much more could be said,” the bride says,
“but we’ve so little time,” as the usher’s waving,
and the organ’s piping up. On the other hand, talk’s cheap, why not
do something? The miniature bells, for instance,
as I’m working with my source material exceptionally well
these days. And sometimes, later, our downward spiral
into nametags and chiffon. Nametags let you know
for whom you’re clapping. In this way
we know who’s running down the hall as they’re throwing rice.

•
All they’re interested in these days is forgiveness,
can you imagine that? We were all in love back then. And lately,
I’ve been trying to make myself visible,
and can report only relative success. It’s good to be out, though,
the relatives say. The sunshine and airplanes. And western themes
appear frequently here, while others don’t.
Not necessarily in that order, either,
as some are named and followed in greater detail. What of the virgin,
for instance? And how goes the mother figure?
As Dad reminds us, they add flair
to any social occasion. So what if we all turn into rocks,
with help from the exotic dancer and the prosecuting attorney?

•
Amazed whispers begin circling the reception hall.
Rosie’s walking under a big hat.
We’re splashing around a bit in the punch bowl.

Cake for the Groom:: Part I

It’s Everywhere You Want to Be!

On our way toward thinking the unthinkable, we passed by much
of the 20th Century. The flowers were very metallic, as we began
with the discomforts and statuary, knowing we’d a lot of catching up
to do. Penny only wanted a cigarette, for instance. And Blousey
did a lot of sleeping back then. And kissing sailors. Now we’re here
at the big wedding with homeowner Frank Fontaine,
and we’re ready to begin the retaining wall, as well as dado joints
and tough talk, as we’re heading for the ear-popping altitude
with beer lights and cake, looking for opportunities. But candidates
and landmarks obtrude. They noted it with a frugality
to be admired, before the aperitif. In fact,
if it wasn’t for being half outside our lives, we’d’ve had no time for salad
or forced marches here and there. “Find a bakery near you,” they said.
Now look at us. The yards are full of oblong people.

•
It’s possible to make the entire trip in under three hours, if you step on it, I’ve heard,
when the day really is the wonderful day, simple
in the way the light casts about, the feel of the air. Along the way
is a collection of dogs barking off and on, but it seemed
too dreamy to make oneself go through with it. Things like this
happen all the time, the guests decided, over the rice
pilaf. On the way there, we found a station we could agree on. All talk.
And then some country gospel. And to change, but to change slightly,
back and forth. A flutter really.

•
Later, through the buffet line, many disappear in a glaze
of equations. It’s all very alarming, but they promise
to write soon. One could wish for more such moments. But that’s just an opinion,
of which we have several. Up past the sweet potatoes,
things begin to get a little hazy, and alien to any sense of purpose
of which we speak and do not speak. It’s a good thing
the world is limited, since our bodies are so
slow. We ended the season that way,
several points down. The girls studying their hands. The Jell-o salad,
too, seems chintzy, along with the recent present.

•
As their food of celebration, ancient Greek couples split a sesame cake
to ensure fertility. And then our tools
took over. If things can be said to have beginnings,
that is, especially when wishing is prevalent. And the bride and groom
arrive. Sure we shared experiences awhile, but it was mostly
just matching terms and fill-in-the-blanks. What chaplain where, and why,
that sort of thing. It sure was a pleasure though,
to see the young couples really trying to overcome their
diffidence. Our grandparents call
to say they’re finding memories that fit their style
more comfortably. It’s important we remember the line may move
and waver a bit, as we’re wondering how the night arrived
and how the future gets made
from what’s just lying around. I’ve been thinking about it,
though. I’m ready now. And I’m working from slogans,
called Stem Cell, or Running Dry, perhaps. I like slogans. And a good kiss
in the dark. Remember? That was back
when I thought I was sitting in a folding chair surrounded
by white table cloths. Which was back when we could still carry a tune,
over there, and under the birches. Sending Johnny
right over. It sounds ordinary enough now—but have you seen
what Carol’s mixing into the cake batter?