His Spanish Fiancée

Right hand weighted down simply
in engagement gold, the band
for a nearby shore wedding
piping in an ironic march,
Randall surrendered, pointing each
finger at the clouds.

His arms, swollen like sea ropes,
blew top-heavy in the breeze.
He was laying her to rest
one grain at a time among sand
crabs and Milwaukee's Best empties.

Grasses on the dunes clasped
hands in prayer, he gasped and
ocean sprayed onto his tongue :
"That is how she danced."

A stranger's arms, her bony hips,
and two quick kisses: the beer glass
sweat drops playing chase like
Manuela's hands on the Cuban's back.