What was your wedding like?

In West Quincy, Missouri
was a lone hot dog stand
among the dusty Mississippi River sediment.

Greasy, spinning hot dogs were our first meal,
on the scorching midwestern day
we were legally bound.

Our food arrived in red plastic baskets,
hers with ketchup and Fritos.
My dog had ketchup, pickle relish, and chips.

Folding together as we ate,
our soft, smooth hands 
reached across the table 

Endlessly smiling at each other
despite the marginally edible food,
we nourished one another with joy.

The boisterous air conditioner
mounted in the masonry wall
spewed out frosty air, drying our young skin.

Our VW Bug had a leak-free sunroof,
was filled to the brim with wedding gifts,
but lacked air conditioning.

Fed, we stood, hands together,
facing the glass exit door. 
And readied ourselves for “hot and humid.”

Fed, bound, and determined, 
we got in the sweltering car.
Consummation was still a 3-hour drive away.

But first, the gravel in the hubcaps had to go!
Prankish brothers-in-law had proudly 
filled Bug-a-Boo’s hubcaps with a hullabaloo.

Bound for our motel in East Peoria,
upshifting, we entered the two-lane,
resuming our journey of three hours and forty-five years.