When the groom lifts the veil from her

delicate temples, I’m thinking someone

should warn them: a future of funerals, car

payments, taxes, kids throwing up in the night.

It’s a job you mostly won’t know how to do,

your naked arm deep in a jammed kitchen sink,

burnt rinds of eggplant, crazily adrift.

—JOSEPH MILLAR, “American Wedding”