Fallout (Crank 3)

Surreal! They don’t even call my name,

sure of the fact I’m here somewhere.

… reception location.

… reception music.

… reception food.

I don’t want to think about any

of it. I only want to think about

Bryce. Making love. And babies.

I GO TO JOIN THEM ANYWAY

Mostly because they’ll probably

come looking sooner or later.

Just as I reach the kitchen,

I hear a cork pop. Loudly.

Aunt Cora screeches. Ah!

Where’s my glass? She turns,

smiling, as I come into the room.

Guess what? We found a church.

I point to the champagne

bottle, foaming merrily down

its neck into a bubbly puddle

on the counter. “I figured.”

Want some? She glances quickly

at Grandfather, who is scribbling

notes at the table. He shrugs,

so she pours three glasses,

before I even say, “Guess so.”

I’ve had champagne a couple

of times. Always very small glasses.

I’ve never, in fact, gotten drunk.

Glasses raised all around,