The high school reunion,
which I won’t attend,
Will be held
in Las Vegas,
Nevada.

I’ll go to Long Island,
out near the end,
Where they still say
in that fun way
“What’s da matta?’’

It’s odd what we say
what we’re really not thinking:
Magician’s with rabbits
and top hats.

When someone will say
Long Island is sinking,
All will await
‘til someone tops that.

A marriage of two,
attended by many,
I’ll try not
to be
in the way.

Not knowing the many,
if indeed I know any,
I can lie like the lot
when I say:

The high mountain ranges
of New Mexico
Comes not from tectonics
but fission:

Where the moon
left the place
they still called Socorro,
And left
the high hills
on emission.

And then on Long Island
we’ll all sit to eat,
A custom,
post wedding
chat habit.

And especially nice
at these…