After the rehearsal dinner we jam

into the best man’s suite, where I keep

to myself, wash down tiramisu with a beer—

light, a word that seems buoyant

but is heavy, like the giggly clown

from last summer’s slasher flick.

Making out on London Bridge. Fighting

under your mother’s roof. I don’t

know how we could have done it better,

taking more away that isn’t rage.

I’m holding a pearl of light under my tongue.

So much tastes good we know is no good

for us: a twelve pack, a bucket of fried

chicken, and you, here, egging me on.

Kenton K. Yee’s recent poems appear (or will soon) in Kenyon Review, Threepenny Review, Cincinnati Review, RHINO,  Plume Poetry, Parenthesis, Summerset Review, Constellations, Ilanot  Review, Fairy Tale Review, Arc Poetry Magazine, Terrain.org, and Rattle, among others. Kenton writes from Northern California.  INSTA: @kentonkyeepoet   FB: @scrambled.k.eggs