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New York Bachelorette

The dove gray
stretch limousine is
double-parked.
Her arm is leaning on the roof.
The door is half-open
as she vomits onto the pavement.

She can't remember how
many clubs they crashed.
- Nor their names.
- Nor her fiancÚ's
name. No wait. She knew it:
Trevor.

The cars and cabs
whoosh by.
The November
slush splashes on her
new leather coat.
- On clearance at Macy's.

Her brain mushes as she
tries to retain a coherent
thought:
- WHY was she getting married?
- Will her sister show up at the church
with all six brats?
- Will Uncle Ted sing
"Old Susannah" as
we cut the cake?

With an effort, she again
leans down.
- Her hair a wash of
beer and olive garden.

The girls are crocked
too: crooning and crying.
Smoking and burping.
- All under the dim
dome light:
Imploring her to
again slide into
the stuffy warmth of
too many bodies.

And, in a moment
of pure clarity -
She remembers:
one more stop.

- And they're
offering
free shots!

by Patty Linsley

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