Sir Real
Brett and Amanda were
in the same wedding party.
He was best man,
bronze and handsome.
She was maid of honor,
porcelain and beautiful.
They had a wonderful day
and danced all night
at the reception, met
after work every night
for the next two weeks,
finally told her parents
they were going to elope,
obtained a marriage license,
arranged a honeymoon
in Paris and London,
bought plane tickets,
packed their bags
and were on their way to
the justice of the peace
for a fast wedding
when Amanda asked
if there was anything
she could do for Brett
once they were wed
and Brett said there was:
She could applaud when
he walked into a room,
smile and curtsy, speak
only when spoken to.
His first two wives
had failed to do that
and those marriages
had ended quickly.
He hoped she understood.
The Quilters
They’re widows,
old and gray, bent over
a quilting frame, sewing
to meet a deadline
for the next raffle
talking and sewing in
grand memories
of husbands
dead for years
remembered daily
missed deeply
loved forever by
six quilters, all
cheerleaders waiting
to leap when their men
walk through the door.
Conference on Homeland Security
I can’t speak for the women
attending this conference
on Homeland Security.
They’re scholars, too,
brought here for their expertise.
Perhaps I can speak for the men
sitting in these rows with iPads
first session of the morning,
staring straight ahead at
two breasts above the podium,
two heat-seeking missiles
restrained by a suit coat
but programmed to fire
and wipe out ISIS, Al Quaida
and Boko Haram.
These men won’t duck for cover.
They are patriots forever
ready to die for the cause.
Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.
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